Space Bound
by Lady Lisette
Summary: Mature, dark, gritty satire set in the seedy underworld. Not for the faint of heart. Cad Bane reunites with the one girl given access to his heart, pulling him into an ill-fated love in the last days before Order 66. A tale of lust, sex, chaos, and betrayal. BanexOC. Complete. IN-PROGRESS SEQUEL: "Wake the Ashes."
1. A Night in Happyface

_Author's Note:_

_First of all, before you begin reading, I strongly suggest reading "How Did I Get These Scars". It sets up a good portion of the story and is a prelude, if you will. Another note is that none of my other one-shots, no matter who is in them, are not related to "Space Bound" whatsoever, unless it is specifically noted that they are._

_My goal was to depict the characters (especially Cad Bane) as much darker and edgier than the television show has allowed them to be. I wanted to see how far I could push myself in my portrayal of Bane, and it seems I fell over the edge into the abyss while doing it. But, it was fun. And I would do it again._

_Also, you might notice I use 'Terran' profanity over Star Wars profanity, and that is intentional._

_As always, feedback/comments/questions/praise/critique in the form of reviews are highly appreciated and welcome._

_"Space Bound" is rated M for sexual content and themes, strong violence/gore, and Terran profanity._

* * *

><p><em>"Space Bound"<em>

_Chapter One: A Night in Happyface_

* * *

><p><em>"Nobody knows me, I'm cold, walk down this road all alone<em>  
><em>It's no one's fault but my own, it's the path I've chosen to go<em>  
><em>Frozen as snow, I show no emotion whatsoever"<em>

_-Eminem, "Space Bound"_

* * *

><p>It must have been close to midnight.<p>

Give or take a couple hours.

Starting yesterday he had stopped keeping track of the time as much as he usually did. The hours were blending together, slipping and giving way to the bottom of a bottle and the creases in wrinkled bed sheets. And frankly, he was all right with that. After having the Jedi on his tail for two months, it was a bit of a relief to not have to worry about every single minute and whether or not they were being put to good use.

Actually, in technical terms, the Jedi were _still_ on his tail. They thought they were.

Because Jedi were naive in that way. They were illiterate to the ways of the bounty hunter. The mere concept of such a profession was a foreign language to the Jedi Code, and that was their major disadvantage. Jedi waited for him to come out in the open and surrender when he had had enough of the fighting and chasing. To say, I'm sorry, I'll take my punishment like the bad guy I am. However, nothing could be farther from the truth.

The bounty hunter doesn't have a job. He has a _lifestyle_. Jobs are things he can walk away from, call it quits on, and does for and only for the money. As soon as the choice is made early on, it is for life. After the first hiring, or the first kill, that lifestyle became not just permanent, but definitive. He knew what he did now was what he would be doing for the rest of his life, which could last anything from fifty years to two weeks.

The bounty hunter knows these things, and he can smell death when it is close behind him, a black creature ready to pounce out from the shadows. When the bounty hunter's trail is blistering with heat, and the prison cell still smells of his perspiration, he lays low. He lets the hours blend together, slip and give way. He has to be patient to let the storm pass.

And just when you thought he had given up and called retirement, he is back for yet another round in the ring. The bounty hunter never walks away—or rather, he _cannot_ walk away. Instead of closing up the garage, he just decided to let the wheels cool off for a spell.

And that was exactly what Cad Bane was doing.

Two months ago, he was sitting in a Republic cell. His wrists had been numb from the stun cuffs, and his eyesight accustomed to the darkness. Back then, the Jedi thought they had gotten their revenge, that they had beat him to it. Two months ago. Not one Jedi had seen him since he escaped the prison.

Enough jobs in a row, Cad Bane had told himself. As much as he enjoyed the high-speed chase, the thrill of another victory, the ice-cold cash and the white-hot trigger, it was time to let those wheels cool off. After all, as long as the galaxy was populated, the cash and the bounties would be overabundant. Not to mention there were plenty of folks, some he knew personally, who could make good use of one-hundred-thousand credits—at least, that had been the bounty on his head once he escaped. It could very well have doubled since then for all he knew.

What the hell would a Jedi do with that kind of money?

He wasn't about to find out.

Anyway, back to the bounty hunter. The bounty hunter knows his geography like he knows his utility belt, and he can't be prepared for the next job until he can tattoo every major system on his drunk buddy's back. He has a list of names in his head he can go back to, a laundry list from his past. He knows how to get products on discount that the upper-class probably has never seen, smoked, or played with. There are places as well—where to find the underground leaders, where the best gambling takes place, and where to hide depending on the gravity of the situation.

If one asked a random citizen who kept up on news from the HoloNet, how many hideouts Cad Bane has, he would probably say, "Two, maybe three?" He had six.

His current residence of choice was Number Five. So far he had been here two weeks with little knowledge of the outside world and its happenings. His time spent in the Republic cell needed a chance to be forgotten and left behind. Number One was a ways away in a smaller, more condensed place. However, this one was crammed in the middle of the Coruscant underworld activity, the heat and the sweat and the dirt of blue-collar criminal work, and thus was the ideal place to stay secluded while also using the hectic crowds as a sort of defense mechanism. Number Five was also his personal favorite.

Why? Because it was closest to a place of which's name he had saved in the back of his mind for several years, now. Of all the cantinas in the galaxy he had attended to have a drink, an inaugural business chat, or to feast his eyes on that which the average person wouldn't see in sixteen lifetimes, one outdid them all. Hawke Noth Cantina was the name, a rare gem that could make the dirt shine with a bit of class, a quietly-spoken but widely-known secret among fellow mercenaries. When it was time to get off the road, recharge and cool off, a little spike of entertainment worked wonders. Yes. It was fascinating what only one night at Hawke Noth could do to a man, mentally and physically.

Cad Bane was pulled out of his thoughts when his comlink beeped. He flicked off the switch and glanced over the message. If it was one of his employers, he would have to refuse. Not out of timidity but pure logic of the trade, Bane had to keep business closed for at least another couple weeks. By then, the Republic's search for him would have winded down due to higher priorities, as what usually happened, and it would be clear enough to return out into the open again,

In a flash, he had shut off the comlink. After Cad Bane had donned his wide-brimmed hat, he stepped outside and locked the door behind him, returning to the neon, nicotine mess that was the Happyface neighborhood. To better shield his face, he lowered the brim of his hat a couple notches.

Happyface, an infamous name across this level of the Coruscant underworld, was renowned for its notorious stink of bile and rotten waste, as a heavy fix came by cheap and easily accessible on just about every street. A newcomer's green face and nonstop dry-heaving was easy to spot out, and with every night that passed in Happyface, one could learn to get used to the smell, as Bane had had to do. Aching, groaning buildings riddled with burn marks and graffiti overlapped the levels of traffic, and were sprawled out along the streets. Pulse neon lights flashed and danced overhead, forming shadows in the bleached alleys. The ground felt sandy and sticky under his boots. The soundtrack of the nightlife played out with the shrieking airspeeders, moaning drunkards, and the clinking liquor bottles. Someone nearby was lying unconscious, face-first in his own vomit. Another poor wretch sat on a rusty doorstep, asking anyone within arm's length for ten credits,

"Just ten credits, what more could I ask for? C'mon, man, I need a fix..."

Cad Bane scarcely heard him.

Finally some Trandoshan, who had been leaning against a wall with a drink not ten feet away, couldn't take the pathetic cries anymore. He pulled out a blaster and stuck it in the wretch's creased, soggy face, spraying brown saliva on his shirt as he hissed,

"I'll give you three seconds to shut up before I blow out your brains." The wretch barely had time to scramble to his feet before the Trandoshan growled, "One-two-three," and shot him between the eyes. After that, he finished off his drink and began picking at a scab just above his ass. The remnants of a crowd of passersby walked on like zombies. Like wasted, breathless rats.

Up above, the traffic whirred reassuringly as a reminder of a saner world above.

It took roughly fifteen minutes of walking, but Hawke Noth Cantina was soon visible on a dark corner of the street. Two cloaked guards blocked the entrance and bristled whenever someone walked past a bit too close. As Bane approached the guards, he held up his cantina pass. Only once they had taken notice of the pass did they step back and allow him inside. Not just anyone could be served at such a place, of course. Letting just any passing commoner in would make a once enjoyable setting terribly overcrowded.

He could hear the echo of his footsteps all the way down the flight of stairs. Far below, an electric drumbeat played to deep, rhythmic music, with occasional roars and hoots, screams and hollers, cheers and cries. Judging from the prolonged echoes, the Cantina was thirty to thirty-five steps downward, straight and veering slightly to the left towards the end. It wasn't as easy to tell since Bane hadn't been here in quite a while. In fact, he could not distinctly recall when he had last stopped at Hawke Noth. But that's what happens when a series of jobs disagrees with one's choice of residence.

Bane took another step. The darkness of the stairway, in spite of its familiar atmosphere, brought upon the recent recollection of his time in the Republic cell, and to say he'd rather not dwell in the memory was a gross understatement. They had questioned him every day about employers, the CIS, who he worked with, and he had said not one word the whole time. But that had been the surface of it. The guards in the Republic prison all held deep-seated grudges against the criminals they came across, for some reason. Maybe having a grudge was part of the training, or they were just bored—it didn't matter. Whatever their reasoning, the guards, given the chance, would disobey their orders from the Jedi, which was not to harm the prisoners in any way. That had been every day, too—day after day after day.

_Sleemo_ assholes. Well, at least he had been able to savor a small taste of revenge. On the night of his escape, he had another prisoner, Acun Ragnos, had shared mutual enjoyment in electrocuting their least-favorite guard to death. It was too bad that during their escape, Ragnos fell behind and was trapped behind the doors just as Bane made it through. Just too bad. He had been a decent sharpshooter.

As Bane reached the halfway point of the staircase, a young Mandalorian clothed came up the steps, cursing under his breath. When his eyes caught the bounty hunter's, he stopped.

"Would you know," asked Bane, "if the Corrino brothers are here tonight?"

The young Mandalorian glanced back, as if expecting someone behind him.

"That's right," he answered. "I saw one of them there all right. Gasta, I think. What's it worth to you, stranger?"

"Gasta's weaker when he's alone. His brothers own his ass."

"Well, if that's what you're planning, you'd better consider thinking twice," said the Mandalorian, glancing back again. "Gasta is wiping out everyone tonight. The game is goddamn rigged."

"Is it Pazaak?"

"Sabacc," the Mandalorian hissed.

The bounty hunter nodded.

"Their favorite," he said.

"No shit. I lost five-thousand in the first round. Decided to call it quits before there was too much trouble."

"Well, you poor thing," the bounty hunter said, cracking a cynical, twisted thing he would probably call a smile. "I know how Gasta works when he's alone. If he's down there, I intend to make him swallow his own game." With that, he nodded and stepped down a few more steps, turning around only to say, "Take care, stranger." Before anymore could be said, the bounty hunter turned his back and disappeared into the darkness.

The music was loud at this point—obnoxiously loud.

As the steps veered to the left, lights began to flash rhythmically against the walls. A new tune rich with heavy, sensual drums started up, as he stepped into Hawke Noth Cantina. The air was thick with smoke and the smell of Dressillian beer. The music was so loud he could feel it shake the floor and brush back the edges of his coat. Round tables dotting the open room, and at the front was a long platform complete with poles and other delightful accessories. Four young Zabrak females clad in net costumes were currently in the middle of a dance routine that held a large majority of the crowd's approval. It was still fucking crowded as ever—looks like somebody had made good cash confiscating cantina passes.

Toward the far right, which hosted the game tables, Bane heard hisses of disappointment overcome by the laughter of a Boltrunian. Gasta Corrino. A round of Sabacc was just ending and the Corrino had won once again.

"Fucking rigged!" someone shouted.

But the Boltrunian was laughing and collecting his money, practically daring a laser bolt or two to be plugged right through him. Typical Corrino fashion.

_Of course,_ thought Bane,_ it's still too early for a bar fight._

The outraged and indignant individual shoved his chair back, jumped up, and took off. As Bane made himself comfortable at an empty table towards the front, a Stennes dressed in a pewter-gray outfit walked up to him with a funny grin on his face. He tugged at his collar and said,

"You sure must have a good reason for coming here tonight, Bane."

A few nearby eavesdroppers glanced in their direction.

"I can't help it if I'm popular," Bane replied. He was, in fact, only half-listening to the Sennes. His focus was on the Zabrak dancers. Somehow his eyes couldn't stop dropping down to those pretty young thighs wrapped in the black nets—dark, tattooed, and full of experience.

"I hear there's a bounty on your head, old friend," the Sennes hissed through saliva-coated fangs. "Two-hundred thousand credits."

So, he had been right after all.

"At that rate, I should take it as a compliment."

"Lots of people could use that money, Bane. What's bringing you down here?"

Bane let out a long sigh of indifference, resting his hand on his left holster as if by second nature.

"I think that depends," said Bane, "on how well business is doing. Besides, on this street, isn't everyone on somebody's wanted list?"

"Sure, sure, but doesn't everyone have a blaster with somebody's name on it, too." Tukoga Noth tried stepping backwards, but all he did was stumble over and grab the back of an empty chair behind him with the elegance of a rancor, to which Bane just smirked. After he embarrassingly recovered, he added, "Well, I need to head back to make a few deals 'round the house for tonight. If someone asks for you, I'll tell you about it first." Tukoga paused. "Oh, and stay away from the Corrino brothers, why don't you. They're heating up a lot of dough tonight, and I heard Gasta's older brother Kel is coming later."

"Now don't start thinking you can scare me out of here," said Bane. "You should know by now that blasters with my name on it have to do a helluva lot more."

Tukoga, being yelled at from the other side of the room, slipped out from between the tables. Bane then decided to order his favorite drink, a Thuris Stout—darkly sensual, yet strong enough to kick the floor out if misused. Luckily, he had learned how to properly handle the stuff. His drink came back ice cold and frosted. He raised the glass to his lips and slowly swallowed, followed by an immediate rush of satisfaction running down his parched throat.

Then, the song playing in the background died out. The four Zabrak girls finished their dance and sauntered off the platform. A murmur for more soon commenced, which morphed into a growing shout. The sound surrounded him and consumed the whole cantina like a flood. Bane closed his eyes, his long fingers wrapped around the ice-cold glass, and he listened through his throat. In his deepest subconscious he carefully divided, chopped up, and sliced through that sound until he could hear every individual voice—every unique whistle, gurgle, chirp, crack, whip, roar, hoot, chant, and holler, all drowned in their own twisted levels of drunkenness.

And then all went dark. Shouting had never turned to cheering with such rapid fluidity in Hawke Noth.

The lights deepened to crimson and focused down on the platform, as three figures appeared around the poles, silhouetted against the beating, pounding red. They were Twi'lek females, and, in Cad Bane's opinion, one of the most gorgeous creatures in the galaxy. The two on the left and right were a pale, sickly-green color, and began twirling around the long silver chains fastened to their slave collars like scarves. In-between them was a skinnier girl with deep-red flesh. She was one of the Lethan kind, a rare one. She was dressed in nothing but a black leather bikini decorated with long white chains, a spiked collar, and a silver headpiece. In other words, she had little to hide. Bane had only seen a Lethan a couple times in his life, so he kept his eyes on her as the three began to dance. The crowd was ecstatic as the Twi'leks began a top-down routine on the poles, and accompanied by the loud as fuck drums, the technique was increasingly fulfilling its purpose. The Lethan flashed her round face in the beam of the spotlight and leaned in seductively to the lucky fellow sitting on the stool in front of her. Then she dropped to her knees and stole the show. As Thuris Stout ran down his throat, a silent smile slowly spread on Bane's face.

He glanced to the side of the room to catch a glimpse of who must have been the Twi'lek girls' slave owner. The owner was dressed in black clothes, his face invisible in the shadows. He waited with a handful of change credits. Bane saw a small group of males hand the owner a sum of money, and point to the two sickly-green Twi'leks.

These girls were prostitutes, he realized. Dancing for attention, making money off attention turned into pleasure.

He liked this. He liked the way his gaze couldn't be taken away from them as they continued their dance, especially the one in the middle. Her flesh was redder than human blood, hotter than fire. Every time he got a good look at her face in the spotlight, something in him pumped faster, something that had to be quenched right here, right now. She screamed _luscious_. She was a feast he wanted to gorge on, a world of color he wanted to explore. Maybe he should be paying less attention, but dammit, it was working.

Bane watched, sipping on his drink, as the fire-skinned Twi'lek took a step forward and claimed a dance all to her own. A feeling came over him as if he did not want to move a muscle, or maybe even could _not_ move at all. She twisted one leg out and folded back the other; she crossed her arms over her head and the black leather stretched so tight he could see her tits beneath the covering. Her long chain fell down her side, along the back of her thighs and looped around the pole. At that, a unionized cheer erupted. Yes, he was paralyzed. The Lethan's face, for a moment, was suspended, and he could see it was full of greasy make-up.

He had to get under it and see what she was like without any of the decorations, the plastic additives, and then stay in that place to compensate what would have been a cold, lonely night.

Fuck it. He deserved it. He had earned a treat more satisfactory than a Thuris Stout. Even if her owner was unreasonable with prices, Bane would still have plenty of credits to play a couple rounds of Sabacc with the Corrino brothers. And after all, playing with fire was his delight.

So why wasn't he moving? Why did it feel like he was tied down to the chair?

_Finish my drink first._

Bane stole another glance at the owner, who was still waiting for the highest bidder. It was then that Bane smelled a vile, repulsive odor of pink flesh, and salty crimson blood.

How did he not figure it out sooner? he wondered, perplexed at just how far he had allowed himself to go on a distraction track. Their owner was a Human.

Cad Bane did not like the smell of Human. Somewhere in some place it had rubbed off on him wrong, and like a bad childhood experience with a wild animal or a poisoned food, he could never put it away. It had always stuck. Yes, a few of their females had curves and a pleasant face, but he wouldn't fuck one if he was paid to do it. If he knew what it was he did _not_ like about Humans, it probably would not be as much of a bother. Yet, it was.

Crossing his legs, Bane finished off his drink a bit quicker than he should have. Then he watched the Twi'lek's owner under the brim of his hat. The Human was waiting for the next offer or bargain, leaning against the wall, and fingering his change credits until they smelled of the yellow oil embedded in his pores.

And then...

Something inside Bane felt as if it had been shot, or opened its eyes for the first time. He looked back up at the red-skinned Twi'lek's greasy face.

Suddenly, it came to him. He saw something there he hadn't seen before. He saw something else. Something more. The hours no longer blended, but right then, they froze. And time just about stopped.

He had seen this girl before—a long, long time ago.

* * *

><p><em>Revision Note:<em>

_Mostly just a polishing up of the prose, trimming here and adding there. Some grammatical stuff was changed as well, such as capitalizing "H" in "human" so it corresponds with other SW species. I changed one briefly-mentioned character's name because the original name resembled a canon one too much. Also, Bane's dislike for the Human species was originally going to be more of a major plot point, but in the revision I'm going to tone that down a bit, as it's merely a tool that will come into use during future chapters. I might add some backstory to it as well, but don't expect anything major (after all, we all have something we just "don't like")._


	2. I Play with Fire and Memories

_"Space Bound"_

_Chapter Two: I Play With Fire and Memories_

* * *

><p><em>"You naughty thing<br>Your ripping up the dance floor honey  
>You naughty woman<br>You shake around for everyone  
>You're such a mover<br>I love the way you dance with anybody  
>The way you swing<br>And tease them all by sucking on your thumb"  
><em>

_-Nickelback, "Something In Your Mouth"_

* * *

><p><em> Two standard months earlier...<em>

_._

The Republican guard named Lester stabbed Cad Bane in the ribcage with the end of his staff.

_Five, _thought Bane.

The sound of the impact ricocheted off the concrete walls of the cell in harmony to the guard's subtle chuckle at the prisoner's clenching of the jaw, determined not to make a sound. Just outside the cell, the other guards on duty watched with a cold enthusiasm, half as satisfied than from the last time Lester did such a thing, and thus, Lester would need to provide twice as much to achieve the same satisfaction from them again. And helpless in their own cells, the other prisoners turned away silently, knowing the sooner they reacted, the sooner they would be next in line.

"Tell me to stop, bounty hunter. Tell me you want it to be over," Lester said loudly.

Bane said nothing. In fact, he was even smiling a little. It was the last response they wanted from him, and no matter how deep they dug to get it, he could not face the humiliation of handing it over. He couldn't dwell on the here and now. He had to refuse to give them anything. That meant no squealing, no crying, no begging for mercy.

Another blow from the staff.

_Six, _he thought. He heard a crunching sound from his ribs. Bane remained silent, as he internally sorted through his vibroblade collection back in his Tattooine hideout, evaluating which one would look best cutting out Lester's stomach.

One of the other guards entered the cell through the open door. He brushed Lester aside and drew out his own staff. Bane didn't look up.

"They don't know what's good for them," the guard said coolly. "It's as if they don't care. As if they _want _to die." As the other guards watched, he raised his staff and smacked Bane upside the head, rattling open an older bruise.

_One, _he thought. Fresh, warm blood trickled down the side of his face and neck. The second blow made his skull feel as if it had cracked in two. The third half-blinded him and the room flashed a brilliant white. That hadn't happened since last week. _Four, yet?_

The newest recruit on duty, a Chiss with a soft Corellian accent, managed to clear his throat and step forward into the cell.

"Th-that's enough, Lester," he said, voice hoarse from lack of use.

"What do you think you know, kid?" Lester barked.

"But we were given orders from the Jedi," cried the recruit.

The guard snorted incredulously.

"The Jedi don't give a shit," the guard said to the recruit. "They care as much about us as these prisoners. They got a war to fight, and we're stuck down here with this scum. What's in it for you, anyway? Just get used it, okay? And then you'll learn to like it."

"But—but it's not _right_."

_Grow up, kid, _Bane thought. In spite of himself, he began to chuckle dryly as soon as the thought had crossed his mind.

Then Lester, eyes flashing, drove the staff into Bane's stomach and began dragging him up the wall, pinning him by his broken ribs. The mauled pieces of flesh still clinging to his back were torn off, spilling more blood from the open wounds. The other guards were smiling. At last, Lester was about to grant them satisfaction again. Bane gnawed on his lower lip and looked away from the cold gaze that was Lester's. This time, he was counting the seconds it lasted.

_Three...four...seven..._

He could _not_ give in. If he gave in, he would have nothing left that was still his within these walls. Too many of the other inmates had done just that, and what profit had they earned from it? Nothing but life sentence and further humiliation. No, he wouldn't give them anything—_anything_.

_Twelve...thirteen..._

Something must have happened to him, because Lester smiled at that instant.

But even while Bane forced himself to dwell in those thoughts of strength and denial and not giving in, he knew that he was slowly failing. He was growing weaker with every hour-like second. The pain was incredible, a scorching tempest of fire. This was the longest he had had to count the seconds, and it was only going on longer and longer. He was being kicked, slapped, his bloody reflection dancing in Lester's pale eyes. It wasn't until Bane literally heard the cold metal of Lester's staff grind against his broken bones, scraping the splinters and drawing blood across his side, that nausea turned his stomach cold. The taste of blood and hot bile filled his mouth.

Then, when it was finally too much, Bane could hear the dreaded cry for pain escape from inside him. It made him sound like a child. A helpless, sick little child at the mercy of his tormentors in a back alley or on a bloodied kitchen floor. And they stole it. They stole what had still been his. Under the pressure, he had snapped. Even in his deafened daze, Bane was fully aware that the guards had found satisfaction again in Lester's latest accomplishment. Today? He had made the next prisoner snap and wail like a child. Tomorrow? More creative methods, twice as much effort, for the same amount of satisfaction.

They were wrong. He would _not _snap twice. He would not be weak again.

The staff finally fell back, and Bane collapsed to the floor, blood dripping down his back. The corners of world snapped out of blackness. Outside, the guards were watching impatiently.

_Thirty seconds. That was thirty seconds, _he thought.

The guard next to Lester grabbed the staff and was about to try it for himself, when the Chiss recruit said loudly,

"Jedi coming back!"

The two guards left Bane to sit in his cell alone. Footsteps sounded from above, descending, as the door was sealed closed again. As Bane watched two Jedi Knights appear from the other end of the hall, approaching Lester and the others, he leaned over into a painful fit of coughing.

"What's happened?" one of the Jedi asked.

"What do you mean, sir?" Lester asked, saluting.

"The prisoner is injured and bleeding," said the Jedi. He pointed inside the cell. "Can't you see that? Tell me what's happened here."

"He tried to attack the new kid here, the Chiss. He was choking him and it took all of us to pry him off, and, I suppose, in the heat of things, some of us were panicking, and got carried away. You know how it gets with those kinds of criminals."

"Is this true?" one of the Jedi asked the recruit.

After looking back and forth between the Jedi and Lester, he finally said,

"Y-Yes. That's right."

Bane smiled to himself. Good. The kid was learning.

_ Six plus four plus the thirty seconds. That makes _forty _more for you, Lester._

* * *

><p>Cad Bane rose from his chair. But before he could so much as set down his glass, he heard a deep, gurgled chuckle from behind him. He turned around and faced what he had known was inevitable the second he stepped inside Hawke Noth.<p>

"Do mine eyes fail me, or is that my old friend Cad Bane standing with his back to me?" a Boltrunian voice hollered out. Gasta was rolling around in his seat, taking in the view of all his winnings from the sabaac game. His belly spilled over into his lap, and he patted it almost proudly as he guzzled down his drink, leaving specks of it behind on his chin.

Just as he had expected. Gasta had not changed since their last meeting. The Duros bounty hunter froze in his tracks, glancing down at the flashing rainbow of shadows on the floor, and his hand inched the edge of his duster away from his holster. He also felt his back pocket for another treasure, which was a reminder of his most recent visit to Hawke Noth Cantina.

"Relax, relax. I don't want anything from you today," Gasta was saying, smacking his lips.

"I assume you want me to say the same thing about you."

He glanced down at Gasta's table, which was decked with a heap of credits from the game of sabaac. After he had ordered a second Thruris Stout, Bane sat down across from the Boltrunian in a vacant chair. One by own, the surrounding pairs of eyes became interested in the latest arrival, now the latest sabaac opponent.

"I just want to see how my old friend is doing," said Gasta. "Where's he run off to. Where he's headed."

"Funny that you should be curious about my predicaments, or at least, pretending to be curious."

"Why shouldn't I?" Gasta smiled as he leaned back in his chair. "In fact, in the near future, I may even pick up our business propositions again."

Cad Bane discarded the last round as his Thuris Stout arrived on a metal tray, and the sabaac droid began shuffling the cards for a two-way round. He tipped his hat a few degrees to the side, forming a horizontal shadow over his eyes against the cantina lights that shifted to a dark indigo pattern.

"How about I ask the question, now. Do you intend on continuing this until the end of our little round of sabaac, or are you ever going to call it quits?" asked Bane.

"Continue what?"

"Playing the game in which I don't plan to kill you."

Gasta stopped. Then, after a speedy recovery, he laughed and guzzled down his Membrosia.

"I don't think you understand, Cad Bane. My brothers and I have this whole block under our control. I know what's going on downstairs and across the street and, as of now, across the table. You can't touch me here. If you do, you know what's going to happen. And last time? Last time, I was just playing nice."

"I'm sure of it," Bane said coldly.

Bane did remember the last time. The last time the Boltrunians had hired him to carry out one of their seemingly small but mildly significant dealings on this very system. After he had finished the job, he returned to collect his payment only to discover Gasta Corrino and two of his brothers had bailed to the Outer Rim, and thus got out of handing over the money. Embarking on a chase would have not only cost him expenses he couldn't afford because of the lost payment, but risked angering several Corrino allies.

That was roughly one standard year ago. And now, in all honesty, however many allies the Corrino's had did not matter to him in light of what had been lost. That was not just a guaranteed payment, but a stain on his reputation that could only be washed away by Boltrunian blood.

Because _no_ bounty hunter worked for free. It was against the lifestyle.

He held up his hand and took a sip from his drink. By now, he could not even hear the music in the background. The fiery dance of the Lethan Twi'lek was a faded memory, because in this moment, all he wanted was blood. To right a wrong in his ledger. This was professional work, after all.

"What do you expect me to do? Do you want your money?" Gasta snapped.

"You should know, out of all of them," Bane answered, "it's not just about the money, is it. There are many other games to play, and I suggest you start learning the ropes. Because I, too, am a professional."

Bane took another card and looked at his hand. He knew Gasta was cheating, of course. The whole deck had been rigged. It was an old trick that originated on Florrum and had become quite contagious ever since the start of the Clone Wars. Unfortunately for Gasta, it was a gambit that had already been used on, and used _by_, his opponent in this circumstance. The last time Bane had played against a sabaac opponent who pulled off the same trick, he had won solely on one giant leap of faith.

Which sounded like a hell of a fun time right about now.

Bane did not look up, but he could feel the eyes of the Boltrunian fixed on him, which were overflowing with the poisonous certainty of one last victory for the night. As he reached for his glass, Bane slipped a card from his back pocket in his lap, which he then drew back with the deck. Then once he had made a discard, Gasta almost immediately drew his own card. It was the signal Bane needed.

So bringing that sabaac card from his last stay on Hawke Noth had paid off in the end.

"By the way, I hope you know when your brothers are arriving to help you, well, stay out of trouble."

"I don't need my brothers to whip someone like you," Gasta snarled in reply. "No open Shift. The betting round is up."

"Eight-hundred," said Bane.

His quote-unquote _old friend_ laughed.

"What's the matter with you? One grand."

"All right, then, I double."

"Make that three thousand."

The bystanders exchanged murmurs between each other.

"Four thousand," Bane said. He added a card to the Shift.

"You're gonna have to do better than that."

Once more, he added to the Shift. The droid took out the dice. Gasta stared down at the identical numbers. Bane was able to take his next sip of Thuris Stout with much more calmness that time, as Gasta's action was only further evidence of the hand he had dealt himself. Not to mention, it would not take such a big leap of faith to actually win this round. This, too, was an old trick of the trade. Bane once learned it from a fellow named Greedo out on Tattooine.

"Five thousand," Gasta cried out, and he reached for the Shift. The droid announced it was closed. Gasta hissed in agitation.

"Call. Negative twenty-three," said Bane.

The Boltrunian couldn't speak at first. The pieces of his elaborate puzzle that were reflected in his eyes crumbled like dry sand.

Bane leaned back in his chair and finished off his Thuris Stout, letting it burn all the way down his throat. He propped one leg up on the table.

"The game is cover, Gasta. Time to pay up."

"You…you cheated." Gasta had never sputtered like this before.

"You were just too goddamn occupied."

"Why, you were planning this from the _start_…"

It happened so fast. Gasta rolled out of his chair. It crashed behind him. He reached for his blaster, cursing in gurgles. Bane kicked his chair away from the table and lowered his deck of cards, revealing a drawn blaster hidden behind it and aiming at a Boltrunian chest. Gasta stopped. He blinked, once, at the barrel in front of him. Nobody who was watching breathed or made a sound, as in the background, the music carried on without a care. Bane fired into Gasta's chest three times before the blasts drove the Boltrunian backwards. Gasta fell in a heap to the floor, cracking the chair in two underneath him. He twitched exactly five times, then his eyes rolled back in his sockets, and they hung open.

The corner of the cantina became eerily silent. With every millisecond that dragged by, the realization of what had just been done sank in and melted like ice. However, it did not last long. As the music carried on, and the majority of those present cared as much about the sound of the three blasts as how many stimulants they had consumed in the hour, the crowd of bystanders disassembled back to normality. The Duros bounty hunter rose from his chair, put away his blaster, and called over Gasta's butler droid, who had stood idle in the corner as the only non-living witness.

"Five thousand credits from his account," he said. When he was back on the road again, he would find a way to make Gasta's brothers compensate for the rest he was owed.

His ledger was clean. No more stains. After all, they _were_ professionals.

_And five-thousand could buy her out for the entire night._

As Gasta's carcass was dragged away, and the droid handed him his sabaac winnings, Bane glanced back up at the Lethan girl. The three, as well as their companions, had long finished their dance and were in the far back corner of the cantina, which was the area of Hawke Noth with drapes for closets, the queen-sized bed in a back room for the more unique proposals, and which always carried a heavy perfume aroma. It went without saying that if the rest of Hawke Noth did wonders mentally, this one carried out the physical coverage.

Once he had made it through the sea of tables and the crowd of males around the platform, Bane approached the owner and handed him one-fifth of his winnings. The owner looked up. He had sky-blue eyes, a hooked nose, apple cheeks, and matted brown curls on top. Disgusting.

"What is your price for the red Twi'lek? The Lethan?" asked Bane.

"It depends on how long you're asking. A standard hour is five hundred credits flat."

"They're rare, aren't they? At least, that's what I've heard."

"Let's just say you're a lucky one. She's usually sold out before one AM."

"Where did you get her from?" Bane could not help but slip in. It was worth a shot, and by asking the previous question, it was also subtle enough.

"That," the Human said with a quirky smile, "is not for the customer to know. Traders' secrets, you know the drill."

"I have a tight schedule," said Bane.

"I'll send her over to your place in twenty minutes."

"No, even better. I'll take her there myself."

"And for how long?"

He did not hesitate in his answer.

"The entire night."

The Lethan girl had seen it all happen from where she waited with the others, who had retracted to a new form of business promotion throughout their corner of the cantina. The Human turned to her and, as he murmured something in her ear, unhooked the chain fastened to her neck. In response, she blew a large, sarcastic kiss to him and stepped out from the entrapment of drapes, sheets, and the smell of heavy perfume.

Cad Bane glared hard into her face as she lifted her head and made the first eye contact with him. And it made him remember something. Something he couldn't see or hear or taste or touch. But he didn't know what he was supposed to be remembering.

Without the slightest showing of hesitation, the girl approached him, gnawing at her lower lip and playing with the corner of her headdress. Bane did not take his gaze off her. She must have been taught to do that. She must have been told to walk in such a way that was a poor excuse of a homage to seduction and easy elegance. Nothing she could do now could change what he would do next.

"Just one second, girl," said Bane, and he held up his hand. "Before you get started, you have to answer something that's been driving me up the wall."

The Lethan cocked her head, like a curious infant, and asked, while cracking a wide smile,

"What make you think I got answers?"

He inched closer. She smelled of greasy makeup and heavy perfume. Her face was shadowed in the lack of light that was this area of the cantina, darkening her features. Her demeanor was calmer than he had expected it to be.

"I've seen you before. I'm sure you would remember and I'd like to know."

"I knowin' you," she giggled quietly. "You're Bane, Cad. Best hunter out there since the Fett lose his head. If you seen me before, means you pay for me before."

"I never remember their faces, if you must know. All I see is money."

"What kind of work are we asking tonight?" she asked, leaning in closer.

Well, well, yet another professional with all the tricks up her sleeve. This was his lucky night.

But he never answered her question. Instead, he asked,

"What's your name, girl?"

"Blythe, Bane Cad."

"You're coming with me, Blythe. I have a small apartment in Happyface."

The human watched from his corner as the bounty hunter took his girl outside the cantina, and he saw one of the sickly-green ones try to slip away for something to eat, and he yanked her backwards by her chain and threw her in to the crawling hands of the Weequay males, and they paid for her in full while stripping her down for a long night in Hawke Noth Cantina, but not one tone-deaf ear would tune in to the sound of her cries, and not one haughty eye would look down.

* * *

><p>He had been right. She was fire. She was the flames that with every raging cycle of growth demanded all the more toxic a fuel. From the second he shut the apartment door behind him, there was no doubt that this girl took her profession quite seriously, only playing the sort of games in which her surrender was inevitable but pleasure to approach. She tore off his duster and he unbuckled his belt, leaving it on the floor. She grabbed his shirt, he rolled off her clothes, and somewhere in there his hat had fallen off. Before he could anticipate her next move or the next strategy to rack up his knowledge of her physical elements, he was buried against a tangle of bed sheets, and her front was completely exposed to however he wanted to make use of it. As the night's first round of being forced in and forced out drew to a climax, the Lethan let not one sound out of her mouth. She was silent in the darkness, her sharp cheekbones and glossy lips reflecting the streetlight out the nearby window.<p>

The taste of her inside of him was delicate but audacious, fragile but excited. A poison that did not know how to kill. He responded the only way he knew how, which was to become the most aggressive of predators. And she let herself be the victim, to give in and surrender by second nature. It was the first time in several months that Bane felt in full control of a situation, and after hiding in the shadows because someone else was holding the reins, it was suddenly a feeling indescribable in all its worth. But no one would ever hear him say that. Instead, he filled her with him until she tasted him, she breathed him, and he was the only being in her existence.

When Bane could breathe again, he was lying on the bed with his back against the wall. The Lethan had one hand over his and the other gently cradling the tip of her lekku. Now that they had slowed down, he could see her face better as more lights from outside the window streamed in through the shades. In spite of however many layers of makeup she had on, she was beautiful. He was about to speak, but she cut him off.

"Buy me for whole night?" she asked, as if for clarification. Once he had made a short little nod, she added, "Let me know when you're ready. Go get a drink, or bring a friend over, don't matter."

No matter how much the thoughts were appealing, there was _something_ he couldn't get off his mind. It seemed as if every time she so much as looked at him or spoke, an old memory stirred. Bane despised how it felt like a deep itch or bruise that grew worse with each second but was impossible to locate on one's body.

Certainly once he found out where in the _hell _he'd seen this girl before, it would leave him be.

"Sure, sure, but before that, there's something I still want." He slowly drew up his breath and propped his elbow up against the pillow. "You need to tell me where I've seen you before."

He noticed the spot where she had gnawed her lip had turned pale.

"Bane Cad. Bane Cad." She said his name over and over, as if it soothed her tongue to say it. "Seen lots like you. Lot paid for me."

"What about those brain-tails of yours. They got to have something."

"Maybe. Why need to know?"

"I don't like the inability to pinpoint a face or a name," he grumbled, half to himself. "But it was a long way back, whenever it was."

She looked up and pulled back her hand, beginning to stroke one lekku.

"Long way back...?" the Lethan echoed. She touched his shoulder and her hand felt like ice.

"What?"

"Hey. Maybe I did. Seen you, I mean. If it was long way back..."

So he _had_ seen her. Not in Hawke Noth, not even on Coruscant, but somewhere else. It was coming back to him.

_Duro, a vile and lonely rotten little planet…the town was full of grown-ups faces and black figures, all larger than life._

"Keep going," he said.

"Did I seen you. If it was long way back," she whispered. She tried freeing her left arm out of the sheets. "Maybe I was just dancing. You know where it was?"

"The Duro system. There were a lot of folk there. I can't rightly recall why."

She gently lowered her eyelids, and then peeled them open.

"It's your eyes. I saw them. No change at all." She hesitated, thinking.

Bane almost smirked, wondering which side of that coin could be taken as more of a compliment—the fact that it was one pair of eyes out of countless others that made him unforgettable to her, or that they had not changed at all. Either way.

"Everyone was so tall, I mean, too big, right, Bane Cad?"

An image sharpened in his mind, as if from hundreds of broken little pieces, a shadow approaching out of a heavy rain.

_A little red girl with a pair of lekku was talking to him, something about a favorite animal to have as a pet one day. A black figure yelled from a high platform, and took the little red girl away from him. She was crying and laughing at the same time._

"Oh, I see," she finally added. "You and I was just kids, then."

He sat up straight and folded his hands under his chin. Now to some degree he knew why he could remember her. Though why such a distant childhood memory was still this sharp was beyond him.

_He and the little red girl had met a few days before. One morning they chased each other around the large platform until they were tired, and then they played a game in the sand. Some sort of game in which he lost and he didn't like losing, but the little red girl couldn't care less whether she won or lost, and he hadn't understood that about her at all._

Blythe spoke up.

"I know that day, too. That was day, I think, never saw family again."

_Dammit. Now getting a little personal, are we, _he couldn't help but think. But testing the waters of sentimentality, especially at this point...it was irresistible.

"You remember what that platform was for?" he muttered.

"Hey. Didn't come here to talk, remember?"

"If I have you the entire night, it makes no difference to me. I'll pay as much as I want to. Now, you've said too much already. Let's finish it."

She didn't speak.

"I said, go ahead and finish it."

Now that he had a stronger image of the little red girl's face again, the memory was even sharper than it was earlier that night. He couldn't leave it full of holes, empty, and without reason. He had to remember. She had to tell him. Because that day, for some reason, stuck out in his memory. Something _significant _had happened to him that day or the day before or the day after. Something important he had long-forgotten, a treasure stuffed into the far back of a drawer. Unless it turned out to be the very opposite of a treasure. Which, considering what he did remember of his childhood, could be more likely.

"The platform," Blythe said slowly, "that where they auction us off. Times hard back home. Parents give me up to pirates on Duro. Sold there, some place on Ryloth for pirates. Pirates taught me dancing if them could make money off me."

"How old were you?" he asked.

In response, Blythe forced him back down until his head rested on the pillow. She played something on her choke collar and began to rock back and forth, gently at first.

"Just a kid, I said. Five, six, seven. But, no one cares about that. Right?" She let out the same giggle from before, and Bane not for the first time decided that all whores, pretty-faced or not, could never be trusted with someone else's life. Not for ten million credits could they be trusted.

"You're right, Blythe," he chuckled. "Absolutely no one cares about that."

She tangled up her leg in the bed sheets and rolled on top of him, sweating. On to round two.

* * *

><p><em> On the rusty little planet called Duro, in one of the many cramped and dirty towns where vile rogues hid from the sunlight, where fatherless children desperately beat on their mothers so they could afford another fix, where moisture ate away at the homes families couldn't afford to repair…on this world, a tattooed, rusty, cargo ship landed on the surface. Tall, fat figures emerged from inside, clothed in foreign robes that began at the chest and ended at the ankles. The figures opened up the cargo hold, and they set their goods in divided groups, organized by age, health, and color. Within the next week, the foreigners made themselves comfortable in the neighborhood while announcing a big sale on the weekend. When the day arrived, a crowd gathered at the platform in the town center. Some husbands, tugging down at their shirts to hide a beer belly, dragged their sore-ridden feet out from the all-night bars and fished through their pockets for cash—other ones raced home to alert their still-sleeping wives and snatch up some legit credits to use. Still other miscellaneous folk came regardless of how full, or how empty, their pockets were.<em>

_ As the tall, dark figures pulled out their accounts, checked over the goods, and cracked their knuckles for the start of their payday, a handful of the smallest and skinniest goods trailed to the back of the group. Their skin colors were unnaturally pale, their lekku frail and hanging like rags, faces pink with premature diseases. One of these youngest, a little red girl, drifted farther away than the others and returned to the spot she had picked as her own play place for the past few days. In her mind, it was the perfect place: a round sandbox with walls almost as tall as her. She had always wanted to throw something into the sandbox, but she didn't have anything._

_ Then her friend came along. She had begun playing with him at this spot ever since she got here. He was a little blue boy with red eyes. When he arrived, he let her have his piece of clay he had been trying to form into a ship, but it always turned out to look more like a planet instead. She was happy to play with it and he was happy to watch her. She asked him things as she played, and he answered if he knew how._

_ In the distance, there came the sound of shouting from the crowd around the platform. One voice rang out over all the others, and there was a light applause along with some drunken bickering. An older girl, but a skinnier one, wailed softly from the top of the platform amidst all the noise, and only the little red girl and the little blue boy were the ones who would hear her. No one else would._

_ The little red girl gasped when one of the tall, dark figures began to approach them. Then a tall blue figure, with eyes just like the boy's, took him away and boxed him on the side of the head, yelling things. She cried and was taken back to the group of the ones like her, and she wondered why her parents didn't come back for her like they promised they would when the tall, dark figures took her on their ship._

* * *

><p><em>Revision Note:<em>

_Added a bit more to the interrogation scene to better flesh out the characters. The biggest change in this chapter is Bane's motive to kill Gasta Corrino. Instead of an anonymous 'history' between them, I gave him a solid reason to put his life at risk by committing such an act. Also added additional dialogue to Bane and Blythe's conversation that I thought was missing and needed to make it more real and thorough. Other than that, more details, dialogue, and a general clean-up._


	3. Avenging Gasta Corrino

_"Space Bound"_

_Chapter Three: Avenging Gasta Corrino_

* * *

><p><em>"I won't take no prisoners, won't spare no lives<br>Nobody's putting up a fight  
>I got my bell, I'm gonna take you to hell<br>I'm gonna get you, Satan get you"_

_-AC/DC, "Hell's Bells"_

* * *

><p>The next time Cad Bane looked up to glance at the time, it was half-past four AM in the morning. The Lethan had been in his apartment for over an hour. His side ached from an older bruise or two as he sat up in the bed. The room was silent save for the traffic noise outside, and the sound of his own raspy breathing. When he glanced down at the Lethan named Blythe, he saw she was looking back up at him. She was breathless but maintaining the same calm aura, as if tempting him to break her before the night was done, to make her moan and howl and scream. And goddammit, it was working.<p>

Come daylight, the Human would want her back.

"_Blythe_isn't a Twi'lek name," he said. For now, the remark was a lazy attempt to see if he could wipe off her strangely perpetual smile. It seemed as if when she was not at work, she could not help but force on a look of blissful indifference that cared not what he did or said next. That was how they were supposed to work, after all, wasn't it.

"Maybe my parents not Twi'lek?" she suggested. Her voice was hoarse from lack of use. In fact, besides the small conversation from earlier, she had barely spoken.

"Stay there," he said, and he climbed out of the bed. One of the pillows was on the floor and the sheets were in a tangled mess. He looked out the window through the slits of light between the shades.

"Pirates give name 'Blythe' to me at the auction," she added. "But I just forget my real name."

Bane put on his hat, which had been lying next to the bed. He couldn't remember how it ended up there.

"Blythe. Blythe…" He repeated her name over and over as she had done to his earlier. It tasted cool and soothing on his tongue. A strange taste.

"Solarin says no one know my real name. Fake ones better."

"Solarin's your owner, isn't he?" Bane asked.

"Yeah, Orett Solarin. Man who's never lonely," she added.

Bane could only imagine why. With such a profession as his, how could a man ever be lonely? How could one be lonely in a line of work that provided life and excitement instead of taking it away?

"So he wouldn't take notice if one of you happens to be missing for an extra day, or two extra days." He gave a subtle, sly grin. "Well, _mesh'la_? What do you say to that?"

Blythe giggled as she sat up and stretched across the bed to grab her clothes on the other side. As she slipped her bikini top over her head and around her lekku with a careless sort of lethargy, Bane began to twitch with irritation. It did not take him long to sense either this Twi'lek was stalling his time on purpose, or just did not have a sense of the time that passed as he waited for an answer. Certainly, he could wait, but his patience ran thinner in the presence of some living specimens more than others.

"Orett hate when they all do that. I mean, let us hang extra long. Bad business. He think it's bad."

"What if I don't give a shit what he thinks."

"You break Orett's rules, he'll make you scared."

"All I remember being a little scared of was when and where I would wake up this morning, and even that doesn't sound so bad anymore."

Blythe laughed, like a child, as if he had just told a joke. Maybe he had.

"Night ain't over yet and we can go all night long," she said once her laughing fit had finished.

Dammit, that laugh. Leave it breathless and numb until next week. Wring out every one of those laughs. Make the most out of his well-earned money. Hell, he wanted it.

As his thoughts jumped from one train car to the next—chewing over what he already knew about Orett Solarin and what could pass under his nose, the doubled bounty on his head, and the Lethan's words—Bane pulled his duster over his bare shoulders, walked to the other end of the room, and poured himself a drink from the conservator in the far corner. He heard her make a passing comment that sounded half kept to herself.

"Last time someone kept one of us home past bargain, Orett get some gun-slinging shit took care of it. Don't want none closing doors."

Bane chuckled at that. The following silence was his only answer to the warning.

Finally, in the vertical line of his considerations and possibilities, a dark thought struck him. He didn't let it go.

_Why should Orett Solarin own this girl?_

Why shouldn't last night be _every _night?

After all, that was how Solarin had come to own her in the first place, and the way she described it, he had many others. If he wanted Blythe to call as his own, a prize that only multiplied its rewards and personal benefits...who could stop him?

Hell, he did want it.

He wanted this Lethan, this little red girl tomorrow night. And the next night. And the next. Every day and every night for the rest of his goddamn life. Every inch of it and every sensation he could squeeze out of it until it was rendered dry and worthless. Why shouldn't he?

Bane turned around to face the Lethan, who was beginning to stand up.

"One more question," he said dryly.

She giggled a second time, dropping her chin to her chest.

_Dammit._

"You know how your Orett Solarin would respond to a little bartering?"

That seemed to get her attention. Like the moment she recognized him earlier that night.

"What? What's that mean?" she asked.

_Why should Orett Solarin own her?_

To Bane, it was a childish thought, a fantasy from the latter stages of boyhood that was too immature for him to trifle with at this stage of the game. A fleeting decision he would regret in due time when he really had wrung every sensation out of her. But, at the same time, it was certainly not a far-fetched one, and not impossible to pull off.

In the end, he got what he wanted, in a job or out on his own. And whatever happened last night, he _wanted_ it.

_And I'm going to have it._

Yes. It _was _boyish, but it could be his.

He left the apartment thirty seconds after the Lethan had relaxed, lay down, and fallen into a shallow, restless slumber. The early morning was spilling light into the upper levels of Coruscant. Despite the time of day, it was still dark as twilight in the neighborhood.

These lower levels never saw real daylight. They only had a few glimpses here and faint traces there, and even those were mere illusions of another unattainable reality. Here one moment and gone the next.

As the empty, gray streets of Happyface greeted him with the smell of mold and mildew, he thought back to his old memory of the Lethan. It was not so much her face he remembered, but her fire-red flesh and her smile. Of course, Lethans were rare. It was no wonder, then, that the memory of seeing one had remained intact.

Unless...

Bane felt a small shudder. A small voice inside him wanted to huddle in the corner.

All at once it hit him. And then he remembered.

What else had happened not too far away from that memory? He had to have been roughly the same age when the two happened.

Some time after the little red girl had appeared and disappeared, that fateful day had occurred. It was the day he watched his father beat his pregnant mother to death.

No one else knew about that day, not even the headmaster from the boys' home he was sent to a few years later. And nobody else was going to know. Not that he hadn't forgotten it, not that he could still see every second of it clear as day, and especially not that, ever now and then, it gave him nightmares. No one.

Now it was no wonder. The two memories were so close.

* * *

><p>Hawke Noth Cantina was sleepier than how he had last left it, drawing in the different sort of crowd that wrestled with hangovers and worked night-shifts. Definitely not his idea of good company. It was nothing he hadn't already had to get used to, though.<p>

However, as he entered the cantina into a thinner, quieter assemblage of customers, Bane noticed something was different this time. A deeper sense was awoken almost instantly—a bad sign. An unidentified _smell _hung in the air of Hawke Noth, like something invisible was burning above their heads. The smell was far too familiar, of course, but he had not expected it in Hawke Noth, and at this time of day at that. It was covering the faces of the customers as he walked past them, some of which he knew by name and occupation, some only as a regular or returning customer, and some not at all. It was coming from the energetic pop tunes crackling through the sound system, from the slow talk and chatter, the clinking of glasses, and the cacophonous screech of sliding chairs.

He smelled danger.

Bane noticed the ever-popular Tukoga Noth standing toward the side, currently unoccupied. If anyone would know what time Solarin would be returning, Tukoga would. Before Bane had made his way to him, the Sennes looked up from wiping his hands on his work apron. Once he saw Cad Bane, he arched an eyebrow in surprise.

"Well, looks like you either got some guts or lost your senses last night."

"What do you mean by that?" Cad Bane asked.

Tukoga stared for a moment.

"Have you forgotten what you did, right here?" he demanded. "The round of sabaac. Hell, I didn't think a whore could fuck you _that _hard."

"Don't push me. I remember plenty. So what does that have to do with having guts?"

"Nobody told you? Damn, I should have said something. Damn." Tukoga wiped a greasy palm across his forehead and began glancing up the staircase at the back of the room.

"Told me what?" he asked impatiently.

"Kel and Sexen Corrino are here."

"No, are they, really? And I thought you were going to bluff me on a bribe," Bane remarked, sticking a toothpick in his mouth he had drawn out of his pocket.

"I'm serious, Bane. You know I—I wouldn't take bribes from any outsiders. They came about an hour ago for Gasta. Now they're waiting upstairs for you on the upper floor, and I'm almost certain they're both armed."

"Is that so? Well, tell them that's too bad, because I didn't come here for a fight. I have business of my own to do."

"You don't?" Tukoga echoed, beckoning for Bane to follow him farther towards the back, which he complied to. "For someone for doesn't, you sure raised hell last night by killing Gasta. If you don't head over, they'll come for you." Tukoga chuckled nervously under his breath. Bane couldn't help but notice he was shaking. And the Hawke Noth owner never turned candy-ass over some group of customers looking for trouble. This was Happyface, for fuck's sake.

Bane remembered the last time he had crossed paths with the Corrino brothers. One on one, they were puny and weak, but put two or three of them together and they were natural-born killers. Now excluding Gasta, there were nine blood brothers in the family total. Quite frankly, it might take more than Gasta to clean his ledger.

He quickly glanced at the side of the room to see Orett Solarin in the same spot as before. Sure enough, one kept the doors open when there was demand twenty-four hours a day. When Tukoga spoke up again, Bane felt a pang of annoyance. Again, impatience.

"If you're heading over here, I can't cover you. I mean, there are two of them already and more may come out of hiding. There's just no telling."

"I wasn't about to ask for your assistance."

"Want me to send someone over? I got a few bounty hunters in the neighborhood and on the line. I pay them to haul themselves down here when it gets a little rough."

_Well, fuck, Tukoga. Did I put my hat on backwards, or do I just look like I need the help?_

But instead of saying it, and wasting his breath on someone like Tukoga, Bane just answered,

"No. I plan on keeping the Corrino brothers waiting. They can hold on."

"Fine. It's your skin, not mine. Just be careful. Don't wreck my cantina. Take it outside, if you can."

"Who do you think you are, my fucking mother?" Bane grumbled through his teeth.

Tukoga Noth tried to laugh. Meanwhile, Orett Solarin was still waiting towards the back. After his hand fidgeted once or twice, he looked back and yanked on one of the curtains hiding the built-in closet, and yelled at the girl inside to wipe the transferred blood off her mouth. It was one of the sickly-green Twi'leks who danced with the Lethan the previous night. She was trembling, but smiling, and giggling as well. Once she had done as she was told, she settled properly inside in preparation for the next customer, and Solarin closed the curtain as quickly as he had pulled it back.

Solarin turned around and noticed the Duros bounty hunter was approaching him. He stuffed his change away and said in his best husky voice,

"You were here last night. Are you looking to send over another?"

"No, not quite."

"It's been one night, just as we agreed. She's due back here in two hours or I'm charging you extra."

"That's what I came here for," said Bane.

The Human's face, pale from early morning, twisted up in wrinkles.

"You better not have done something brash. I get my largest income off of her."

"You're about to make a whole lot more."

The human's eyes brightened, like a light switch had flicked on behind them, but he didn't appear surprised by Bane's statement. He stole a glance behind the bounty hunter. Perhaps he was wondering if Bane brought some friends with.

"How long do you want her for?" Solarin asked. His tone suggested he had had this conversation a hundred times before. He arched one bushy eyebrow.

Cad Bane pulled out his remaining change from the previous night. Anymore he needed, he could transfer from his account on Coruscant.

"I'll offer you ten-thousand credits for the Lethan girl."

Solarin stared, and then he laughed. His face began to turn red.

"You want to _buy _her?" the Human scoffed.

A small Zabrak face was visible through a gap in one of the curtains, but disappeared a split second later. Then another, a male, glanced in their direction from behind the platform. But besides them, no one else in that area of the cantina so much as looked up from their drinks and chatter. Solarin laughed again.

"Name your price."

"Sorry, she's not for sale."

"That's too bad. I'm buying her."

"Look, pal, she's one of the best I got. She keeps me in business. You realize how hard it is to find a young Lethan with her kind of skill?"

"Fine, then. Fifteen-thousand."

"I can make that much off her in four damn months."

Bane hesitated, remembering that this was mostly a young boy's fantasy. Maybe he should just forget the whole thing. But the possibility had scarcely crossed his mind did he take it back at once.

Who was he to back down?

He wasn't about to let that little red girl out of his sight so easily.

"Thirty-thousand. And listen, Solarin, I'm no fool. The way that girl is looking, it must take half of what you earn from her just to afford enough medicine that she can keep functioning, am I correct?"

The Human crossed his arms.

"Look...I don't sell her unless it's to someone else in the business. I deal with your type all the time. You don't even know what you're doing."

"I know I can make a hell of a lot more off of her than you ever did." An image crossed Bane's mind, of this Human fucking around with the Lethan. Nothing short of revolting. But he didn't care. Ziro the Hutt could have fucked her for all he cared and it still couldn't change his mind at this point. No. He had gone too far already.

He had already decided he _wanted _it. Naturally, if he was not going to have it, no one else could.

"Listen here," said Solarin, "she's the most experienced one I got, and that makes her one of my best."

"Experienced?" Bane echoed.

"Sure. Her father raped her when she was six, you know, so the pirates would buy her. It's a pirate thing to never take in virgins. Been a whore ever since. It's the best record I've seen on one her age. Besides, she has diseases from every species in the whole damn galaxy. You'd just be asking for trouble."

Bullshit. It wasn't the first time Bane had had to maneuver around the risks from contracting such transferred diseases, and he had learned ways to do so.

"Thirty-five thousand."

The Human sighed long and loudly, as if he had just been ordered to give the droid an oil bath.

"All right," he finally said. "It's a deal."

"Good. I will have the cash sent over this afternoon, same place."

"Better find me another Lethan with this," said Solarin, as he slipped a small proof-of-purchase receipt from his pocket, tore off the top half, and handed the bottom half to Bane. That way, his cash delivery would be guaranteed and made official. With that, Bane backed away and turned around, not wishing to hang around the place any longer than he had had to. Solarin probably didn't know shit about Twi'lek females and what they could do to a man in only one hour, much less an entire night. What a waste.

With the sudden knowledge that he was now short over thirty-thousand credits, a sum easy to compensate in due time but nonetheless no small amount, Bane felt a brush of a strange feeling. It was that Solarin had, almost, _wanted _to give the girl up, and had let the bartering drag on just to escalate the price. After all, it was he who said Lethans were rare and she was one of the best. And for not even half a hundred-grand, sold off, like store meat.

Was it just a feeling, or was it a suspicion?

For now, Bane decided to let it slide. Now he had what he wanted, anyway.

Bane was about to head for the exit, when he heard a crash from the top of the stairs. There was a Boltrunian roar.

"Bounty hunter!"

Several of the customers gasped. Bane didn't move a muscle.

"It's the Corrino brothers," somebody hollered.

Some unfortunate drunk who had been ascending the stairs suddenly let out a sharp cry of pain. Then his body was seen tumbling down and falling to a heap at the last set of steps, his neck twisted in half.

"Hey, pal—pal," said Tukoga Noth from behind the counter, "you should get out of here. I don't want a mess this early in the day. Let me show you the back exit."

"No 'tanks, Noth. Why should I be the one to disappoint a couple old friends?"

_Old friends indeed. Anyone who assists in cleaning up my reputation is a friend of mine, _he thought, mentally laughing away the irony.

He heard another crash, which was closer the second time, and he gently slid one hand down to his left holster. The other pulled down a bit on the brim of his hat.

"Bane…!"

He recognized Kel's voice. Drunk, as usual, just as he had been the last time they met.

He heard two pairs of heavy footsteps pound the bottom of the staircase. He smiled silently. Tukoga, meanwhile, spoke up over all the gasps and group murmurs.

"Nice to have you boys back," he said, trying to sound like he meant it.

"Kel, Sexen. I haven't seen you two in a while," said Bane. Slowly, he turned to face two Boltrunians on the other end of the room, both heavily armed with four blasters to each.

"Bounty hunter," said Sexen, as if he didn't even want to say his name. "Last night I heard you killed my brother, Gasta."

"Cool your laser cannons. I did what anyone else would have done if they had a mind to it. Wouldn't you agree you don't regret someone else taking care of him in your place?"

Something flickered behind Sexen's eyes, all too obvious to anyone who had been expecting such a reaction.

Of course, Bane had known what was really going on in the Corrino faimly for some time. The two brothers were putting on a show by coming for bloody revenge in Gasta's favor. With more than one card in the black market hand, it had not taken much for Cad Bane to conclude that Gasta had been cheating more than just Bane himself out of money. In fact, he was almost certain Gasta had been taking more than his fair share out of the family bank, slipping a dirty deal or two under his brothers' noses. Whatever he had been really been up to, it was enough to make the next bullet aimed for the back of his head. The only thing his brothers didn't like about Gasta's death was planning the funeral arrangements.

So why come here for revenge in the first place?

What kind of a family didn't set out for revenge if one of them was killed? The obvious answer was a family with weak defenses, poor reputation, and high potential for division. If anyone else on the black market got the idea they didn't care about losing one of their nine brothers, any of their threats or blackmails would be laughed off as absurd. And you can't have that if you're someone like a Corrino. You have to pretend you want revenge, even when that's the last thing you want. So from the outsider's inside view, you are a tight-knit band of killers, skinning alive anyone who breaks into the circle and takes one of you out.

Now it was down to whether Cad Bane was going to play along with the game, or make the bail.

"You think you can kill my brother and get off so easy?" Kel demanded, standing behind his brother's shoulder and trying to conceal the hand reaching down for a blaster.

"Yes, I think I can, seeing how your brother was pissing in his own grave," said Bane. He flicked away the toothpick.

"If you kill Gasta like that and believe you won't have to pay in blood, you got something else coming," said Sexen, who was the second-oldest and strongest of the brothers

Bane pulled back the edge of his duster. His hands hung suspended just above the holsters at his sides. Everyone in the cantina held their breath. Then he said,

"I'll play along for now, Sexen."

Kel's nose turned up. His eyes reddened.

Sexen reached for two of his blasters.

Cad Bane fired.

Kel was hit on the shoulder. There were screams. Sexen fired. Bane felt a hot blast fly right past his head. It felt as if his cheek were on fire. He drew his other blaster and fired, and Sexen jumped out of the way. The Boltrunian snatched up a random customer from his seat, and the creature yelped in alarm as Sexen pinned him as a shield to his chest.

Kel reached for his second blaster, but Bane fired at him again. The blaster was knocked out of Kel's hand. He clutched his wounded shoulder with a grimace. Bane turned in time to see Sexen raise his blaster to fire. Spinning around, Bane leaped behind the counter, almost knocking over a bartender in the process. He pinned his back up against the inside wall as Sexen fired over his head again and again. A glass half-full of Membrosia shattered into bits above him, and the little shards fell on top of his hat. Kel was cursing to himself, trying to grab a third blaster without causing more pain to his shoulder. Customers backed away to the walls to avoid getting hit, but the two Corrino's still blocked the exit.

Bane waited for the split second. Then, as soon as he heard Sexen stop firing to recharge his blaster, Bane turned around, stood up, and fired on instinct at the nearest target.

It was Kel. The blast struck him in the stomach. Kel howled and dropped his blaster.

Sexen fired, but Bane ducked behind the counter again. Kel was screaming, wailing, like an animal being led to the slaughterhouse. Customers muffled their cries lest they be shot as well. Some were making a break for the exit to save themselves, and Sexen, in his summit of rage, mowed down anyone who moved.

Kel slumped down into a vacant chair, shouting,

"I'll tear you in half for that!"

"Hold your stomach in, Kel, it's coming out," was all his brother replied.

Bane could hear Sexen's footsteps inch closer and closer to the counter. Blasts whizzed over his head and burned holes into the opposite wall. For a moment, he paused, both blasters in hand. He held his breath.

"Come on out, you son of a bitch, or I'll—"

Before Sexen could finish his sentence, Bane jumped up and fired once with each blaster. The first blast hit Sexen in the arm, freeing his grip on his shield who tumbled to the floor gasping for air. The second took out Sexen's jaw. Bane fired a third time, and it hit Sexen in the chest.

He was still up. Blood from the hole in his lung drenched the front of his shirt. His jaw hung slack, hanging out by only a few strips of muscle. He stared wide-eyed, the life being sucked out of his pale eyes. Bane gave him a slight nudge with the nose of his blaster. The Boltrunian fell backward, almost landing on top of his temporary hostage.

Kel was slumped over in the chair. He held his stomach wall in with his good hand as his brother had told him to do. Bane walked up to Kel, putting away one of his blasters. He pressed the other against Kel's temple.

"Looks like—me and Sexen—dying for the show," Kel said.

He had the oddly calm tone some dying creatures take on, at the moment they realize they don't mind leaving this world behind.

"When are the others coming?" Bane asked.

Kel looked up and spit bubbly blood in Cad Bane's face.

In return, he clenched his fist and punched Kel in the gaping hole in his stomach. Kel screamed. Bane's hand was full of Boltrunian blood.

"Tell me...!"

"Fuck you, bounty hunter," the Boltrunian whispered painfully. "Nobody's paying you to do this."

"You and your brother are just about to. If you remember the last time we met," he said, pressing the blaster tighter. He glanced down and saw Boltrunian intestines sitting in Kel's lap. When he looked back up, Kel was dead. He died with his eyes wide open, and blood trickling from his mouth.

Bane stood up and wiped the bloody saliva from his face. Then he set his blaster back in its holster and turned around. No one had taken their eyes off the three of them. The silence tasted strange. It was almost worse than the danger. A horrid, dead silence.

Five minutes later, once the bodies had been disposed of, the cantina was back to normal. They seem to forget these things quicker than most.

Tukoga was back at the counter, staring at the two corpses and the bloody mess they were making. Bane walked up to a side vendor near the counter and purchased two train tickets with the remaining credits that, thankfully, hadn't left his pocket during the fight. Tukoga approached him and tried to clear his throat.

"You want another drink?" he asked.

"No," said Bane. "But I would like to know how much the Separatists pay for a dead Corrino."

* * *

><p><em>Revision Note:<em>

_ The opening scene was fleshed out a bit, mostly in Bane's connection to the two childhood memories being so close. His decision may seem a bit foolhardy and boyish, but in my opinion, he feels the need to have someplace where he is in full control as he hasn't been "in control" of a person/situation for a long time (and Cad Bane is a big control freak). Some of the other conversations were developed a bit more as well. One small change which will be more evident in the next chapter. That is all for now._


	4. The First Betrayal

_"Space Bound"_

_Chapter Four: The First Betrayal_

* * *

><p><em>"All of you belong to me,<br>Come and would you get it going  
>Now what I want is specific...<br>Respect what I have done to be the ruler and the killer baby  
>You don't talk<br>You don't say nothin okay  
>You're with the ruler and the killer baby"<em>

_-Kid Cudi, "The Ruler and the Killer"_

* * *

><p><em> "<em>_Three __of the Corrino brothers?" _the hologram figure echoed for confirmation. His voice was hoarse, raspy, and a black cloak hid his face from view.

Cad Bane flipped on a projecting image to show two Boltrunian corpses in body bags lying outside Hawke Noth Cantina.

"That is Kel and Sexen. Gasta Corrino will arrive within forty hours for proper identification. Once you are satisfied with the credentials, standard payments can carry on as we agreed on." He propped his feet up on the table and folded his hands in his lap like the gentleman he was not.

_"I imagine this puts yourself in danger, bounty hunter. The Corrino's have their allies, and none of them will take this—unfortunate tragedy lightly."_

Bane had to hide a small smirk at that remark, for it was hard not to laugh at the irony. As soon as he had returned to the apartment, Bane did some research on a black market sector of the HoloNet and subsequently proved his own suspicions about Gasta to be true. Gasta had been stealing from the Corrino family bank on Nal Hutta for several months in a filthy scam, and as if that wasn't bad enough, Kel and Sexen had been in on it as well. Bane could just imagine the Boltrunian family sending their second-to-least-favorite brothers to 'avenge' their least favorite in order to maintain the proper image on the outside. Another barrel of blood and sweat to preserve a mirage that kept the hungry crows at bay. A whitewashed illusion, but a damn good one.

"Let me worry about my own skin. Blasters are for money and money is for business," Bane replied, keeping his tone neutral.

_"Very well. When all three bodies have been properly identified, I will pay you seven-thousand for each."_

Bane hesitated.

"Our agreement stood at fifteen."

_"It's the war effort, of course. I need to cut my budget somewhere."_

"I'm sure I can just as easily find someone else willing to scrape his pocket for a Corrino head. Fifteen was the statement and fifteen is what I'll stick with."

_"Seven-thousand, and no more. If you want better pay, you'll have to make better and more deliveries to me—unless you'd rather see what the Jedi will offer you. I hear they have never met on agreeable terms with the Corrino's, either. You are more than welcome to depart on our little partnership to do business in other localities. Do we understand each other?"_

Cad Bane glanced away from the holoprojector, as inside he cursed. The only thing that kept Bane working for this employer was the fact that both of them held grudges against the Jedi, and the pay, of course. As long as he got paid, it made no difference who it came from. It was when they started twisting their guarantees that he became tempted to cancel the deal. Of course, for some more than others, it was no so simple as pulling the plug and calling it quits, and this was unfortunately one of those rare few.

_"And," _added the hooded figure, _"consider this a consequence of failing your previous mission. I hope the next time we meet again, your reputation won't precede you. Perhaps you learned your lesson in that Republic prison?"_

He swallowed hard and put his feet back down on the floor. His failure in the last mission had _not _been his fault, no matter how one looked at it. Even over two months later it made his blood boil to dwell on all the unmade precautions by the successors, and the salty sting of betrayal sprinkled on the wound of deception and humiliation. But no one was going to know. It helped not to think about it.

"I can guarantee this," said Bane, "that as long as the Corrino gang keeps coming for my blood, more heads will show up on your doorstep."

_"Certainly_ _they __will also learn their lesson soon enough, I am sure. The payment must be made outside of Happyface, for security purposes of course, so relocate to a different district as soon as possible."_

"Yes, I know that," said Bane.

"_My going rate for a Jedi's head still stands at one million."_

"I know." Bane cut the signal.

For a while he glared ahead at the wall, clenching his fists in silent rage. Now he was short twenty-four thousand, which was almost half of what he had been expecting to earn. Since an extra thirty-five was out the door as well, his chances of staying off the road much longer had dwindled down considerably. How could he keep the Jedi off his back for another few weeks? The answer was shortening with every credit he lost.

Maybe it _was _time to get back on the job. His time in Happyface was already pushing a few weeks. Clearly that was still not enough time to come out in the open with eliminated unnecessary precautions. But was there more at stake than brushing aside the risks? Were Gasta, Kel, and Sexen's deaths the wake-up call to jump back in?

Also, the Lethan would need a place to sleep tonight.

He heard rustling behind him. He didn't have to turn around.

"Bane Cad. Where my dearest Orett?"

For the second time, Bane was struck with the feeling Solarin had almost wanted to be rid of Blythe. What with how the human had described her as his 'best' and 'most-experienced' and was still able to sell her off, it seemed pretty far-fetched. Besides, if anyone knew where to find a multitude of pleasure products dripping with experience, Solarin would. But he did not have to chew on it long before the logic refused to add up. That was when he remembered the Lethan had spoken up.

Eventually, he did turn around. She was wrapped in a towel from the refresher, her skin damp with either bathwater or sweat or both. She leaned against the doorway lazily, twirling the end of one of her brain-tails with fragile delicacy.

"I have some bad news for you about Solarin," he said to her, standing up and slowly approaching her.

"Solarin, he's hungry. Always looking. Looks for it over all the place in his girls. Never finds it because—"

"Be quiet, _mesh'la_," he said, as he put his fingers over her lips. "When I talk, you hush up. That's my rule."

She inhaled deeply, closing her eyes and fluttering her thick, dark eyelashes. He leaned in close to her, and his fingers inched up her cheek, softly, picking up grease as they went. She smelled nice. As he peered down at the drops of bathwater running down her neck as if they were poisonous insects, she dropped the towel from around her middle, revealing her bare breasts and stomach. She put her hand over his and asked,

"So, what you do to my dearest Orett?"

"He's not your dearest anymore, little red girl. I bought you from him."

"Buy?" she giggled, squinting her closed eyes as he gently traced one lekku with his hand. "Well, stop stallin'. How long?"

"As long as I want you."

All at once, her eyes peeled open. The next instant she was staring up at him, as if caught in a struggle to wrap her head around what he had just told her—as if he had said either the most horrible truth, or the most beautiful lie. The longer she stared, the great discomfort he felt.

"You—you mean, you _buy _me?" she asked, drawing the words out like they had been preserved inside her for years upon years, anticipating the day she could say them aloud. He could barely feel her whisper against his fingers.

He reached down until he had her by her cold, skinny arms. Her breasts, full but sagging, pressed against his chest. Dammit. She smelled _very _nice.

"You have to learn that you can only get away from my sight once, and also, what I want is what I get."

"Orett don't like that; he gonna kill you for this. He loved my, my _experience_."

"I know about that," he said. "But listen to me, now. You're not going to be just anybody's like before. I got you. You're staying under me now. I'll be making the rules. Understand?"

"Boy," she laughed, "Blythe can't stay still because I'm mover. I need it. Need all those men and boys paying to get into me. Don't think you can hold me in _this _place alone with just one, and I not be dancing on the street all night. Nuttin' special."

He let go and stepped back, disgusted with her words. What was she thinking? It was as if her only method of survival was to do what anybody wanted her to do for a price, doing her so-called 'professional work' no matter who owned her. Of course, he should have expected such from someone like her. Of course she would think that way; Orett Solarin would have _wanted _her to think that way. It was the best way to do business and Solarin had known it. So she had no mind of her own any longer. She was ruined.

Should have seen it coming.

"Are you asking for proof?" he demanded, and he pulled out the proof-of-purchase slip. "Here's the little receipt your Solarin left me. I bet you can't even read it."

"I read a little," she said, but he knew it was a flat lie. She was holding the slip upside down and pretending to skim her eyes over it.

At being directly lied to, he felt a tingle surge through his arms. Bane snatched the slip from her faster than she could react much less comprehend. In a flash, he pressed his forearm against the front of her neck and pinned her by the back against the wall. Her legs brushed his as she froze like stone. Her smile disappeared. She gasped. The brim of his hat bent against her forehead.

"Listen up," he hissed, "you never, ever lie to my face. Nobody does that to me and gets away with it. I'm not warning you a second time."

Blythe nodded feverishly. She was breathless, eyes wide.

"Never, ever...just, don't hit me. Don't hit me."

With that, Bane pulled away from her and sat back down in his chair. He had scared the daylights out of her. Well, good—they were getting started on the right foot.

_Nah. Too early to ruin such a pretty face._

Bane could feel her eyes boring into his back as he activated the small datapad on the table, which was connected to his secondary account on the Coruscant system. Once he had tapped in the code on the proof-of-purchase slip, his thirty-five thousand was transferred back to Solarin in Hawke Noth Cantina within minutes. Rendering the slip now useless, Bane stuck it in an unused coat pocket as a worthless but stand-alone token. Meanwhile, the Lethan was standing motionless, still frozen like stone.

"Happen to know the time?" he asked her, although he could have taken a long-shot at the answer.

She paused and glanced around for a bit.

"Must be not noon yet. The hell for?"

"I have to go collect my payment," he said quietly, still clenching his fists from that tingling. "I purchased tickets for the two PM train to the meeting place outside of Happyface. Say what you want, but you're coming along."

"Can't stay here? But I loving it here."

"You're going to do as I say, do you understand?" The tingling still ran so hot in his blood that his hands begged to break things, preferably somebody's neck, even hers if he was cut loose enough to do it. But this time, he fought it back until it died out like a cold ember. Keeping his cool was not simple advice at this point. Then again, if there was one thing he could not stand, it was being lied to.

Her voice trembled slightly as she said,

"Sure, Bane Cad. Sure."

* * *

><p>Bane tossed a can of food from the conservator towards the Lethan, as it was getting close to noon and she hadn't eaten anything as far as he knew. Forgetting to thank him, she began shoving the food into her mouth with her fingers. He made a remark about her table manners and lack thereof, but didn't know exactly what he said. Instead, he was recalling how Acun Ragnos had eaten like that once in prison after the Jedi Masters gave up on starving him for better interrogation results. His ordeal had lasted almost a whole month before he was allowed to taste food again. That's the sort of thing you see during prison life.<p>

"Be ready soon. Train leaves in a hour," he muttered to her.

"Where's the train go?" Blythe lay on the bed, dressed in her revealing tunic from the night before as well as a spare pair of pants Cato Parasatti must have left once after shape-shifting. Bane was already checking over his belt, stashing away an extra blaster to be on the safe side.

"That's not for you to know," he replied.

Blythe said nothing and swallowed another mouthful of food. On her fourth spoonful, Bane heard her start to choke as it went down the wrong pipe.

"Can't you even eat right?" he asked scornfully, keeping his back towards her so she couldn't see the sneer on his face.

_Surely, considering last night, she must be somewhat civilized._

"S'nothing," she said softly, as her free hand squeezed the corner of one of her pillows. "Don't know why always been problem for me long as I can remember, too."

"I'm not waiting."

Bane replayed Solarin's words from their last conversation in his mind. The longer he did, the more it became plain to him that if he wanted the Lethan to hang around for at least some time, she was going to need some medicine. He didn't know what sort of diseases she may have picked up from any species on any system. Of course, the most medicine could do for such diseases was work to flush them out as best as they could. But take that exposure? Not a chance. And frankly, Bane didn't want to take any risks in that category. He had seen enough of the side-effects in washed-up felons and ex-convicts scattered throughout places like Happyface, Nal Hutta, Mos Eisley, to know better than to test those waters.

The train station was only a couple blocks down. No one had ever accompanied Bane when he went on one of these breaks to pick up his pay, especially not a skinny Twi'lek girl. After self-debating over whether to send her to another hideout or take her with and spare the expenses, he went with the latter. Increasingly, she was proving to be a heavy weight, literally slowing him down. They were already behind schedule. But what else could he do? Leave her behind as part of a trail someone could track him down with? Never. She was his now, as much as his double blasters or _Xanadu Blood _or his hat.

Bane couldn't help but wonder in the back of his mind, though. When he did leave her behind at the next stop when he left on a hiring, how would the Lethan cope? Would she take care of herself and follow the rules?

For the first time in a while, he couldn't answer his own question.

The train station was a gray, five-level place full of scattered crowds. A few poor creatures lay passed out in puddles of booze and shit, ignorant to the fact that they were being constantly trampled. The concrete walls of the station were streaked with juvenile graffiti. Overhead, the P.A. system announced that the two PM would arrive in one minute. Blythe nearly tripped for the second time. Perhaps women in her line of work were naturally clumsy as soon as they were out from underneath the bed sheets—he'd believe it.

Suddenly, Cad Bane felt his hand touch his holster.

The sound of an approaching train in the distance was high-pitched, like a metallic woman's scream. The murmurs of the crowd had become but a low buzz. He heard something else.

"Blythe," he said to the girl at his side, "Stay where I can see you, understand?"

"What for?" she asked, almost in a giggle.

"Don't ask why. Just do what I say," said Bane, gritting his teeth. He held his blaster tightly. The ground shifted underneath him. His eyes scanned the surrounding faces.

His next breath stopped halfway down his throat. Only several yards away, he had seen a distinctive Boltrunian head. The tattoo on the side of its face revealed he was a member of the Dio family, a puny empire but a fierce ally to the Corrino's.

_Stinkhole Corrino's always need someone to watch over their sorry ass..._

The train shrieked in the distance. A sudden light burned his eyes, like the first ray of morning after months in a dark prison cell. Blythe turned. He heard a word try to escape her lips, and he hissed,

"Don't talk. Did I tell you to?"

She shook her head silently.

Bane spun around, pulled out his blaster, and fired into the crowd.

The Dio fired back and missed by less than a yard. Screams erupted around them, screams of pathetic terror.

"Three dead Corrino's because of you!" shouted the Dio, and he fired again.

Bane ducked and pulled Blythe by the arm until she stood behind him. About ten feet away, somebody crumpled to the asphalt ground, a hole in the middle of her forehead. Panic broke loose from its dog chain of everyday normality all about the station. Some glanced around to see where the shots were coming from. Most just fled to save their hides.

He fired back at the Dio and missed yet again. His eyes strained to see the Boltrunian through the scattering crowd. Shrieks pierced the air. Somebody elbowed him in the gut while running past. Another almost barreled right into him. In the crowd, he caught a glimpse of the Dio. Bane aimed for his head, fired, and grazed his tattoo.

"You owe the Corrino's, bounty hunter!" the Dio cried.

_ Fuck the Corrino's, _he thought to himself, biting back the words.

Bane took several steps back while slipping out of the next few shots from the Dio. An opening appeared in the panicking crowd—he took it, and fired once. He hit the Dio right in the chest. The Boltrunian dropped faster than a dead droid. Bane had scarcely any time to give himself a pat on the back before three blasts from the right sped right in front of his chest, all missing him by less than an inch.

A second! Drawing out his other blaster, he stretched his arm to his right and fired three blasts.

A third Dio raced out from hiding several yards ahead. Two seconds later the Dio ran behind a pillar, bracing himself up with his back pinned to it. A few seconds passed, and then he stuck out his arm and fired. Bane did a somersault to roll out of the next onslaught of blasts, which were coming from the second attacker he had yet to spot out.

Bane could see the third one hiding behind a pillar, but that one would have to wait for now. The train was screeching to an agonizingly slow stop, grinding its underbelly against the tracks. He fired to his right twice more, but the shooter had disappeared into the crowd again. Bane darted his gaze back to the pillar. When the Dio's arm popped out again, after which his head, Bane took the shot in a flash.

It was a perfect shot, right between the eyes. He hadn't had such bastardly luck since his last job with the Hutt clan. Drinks all around.

Then he heard them—security sirens.

"Blythe, get on the train," he shouted.

"Can't move," she cried. He couldn't tell where she was. Had she been shot? Was she still behind him? He hadn't listened for her voice hard enough to perceive.

The train stopped.

"Do it—_now_," he snapped.

Shit, she'd better listen to him. If she got into the wrong hands, there's no doubt that as of now she would be willing to break the rules and squeal for them. Until he was certain she had learned her place, he could not let her too far out into public.

_Like right now, for instance._

He pinned his back behind the nearest pillar, holding his breath, and fired back at the second Dio still hiding among the scattering civilians. The sirens were closer. A blast suddenly nicked him in the shoulder. Bane grimaced under his breath and cranked his neck around the side to find the shooter, as another blast chipped the side of the pillar. The light flashed in his face again. This time, it wouldn't go away. His eyes were beginning to burn, but he had no choice but to ignore it.

"Republican security, do not interfere," a droid's voice boomed from the direction of the sirens.

Just before Bane could turn back, he saw a Boltrunian head appear in the crowd. He lifted his blaster and shot upon instinct, hitting the Dio just below the neck.

_And fuck the Dio's too._

The train let out a shrill whistle, as passengers flooded through its doors in an attempt to escape the shootout. Bane pressed one blaster to his chest and then began to make a run for his exit. An explosion went off in his shoulder. He stumbled to a stop. He must have been hit harder there than he thought.

A blast struck the pillar above his head, almost knocking his hat off. It must have come from a sniper.

"Oh, fuck them all,"he spat.

Where was that light coming from?

"Republican security. Cease fire or we will shoot!"

Cad Bane slid to the other side of the pillar as a running passenger smacked his side in a mad dash. He had to run and make it to the train—but he couldn't. Why?

Force, that light was burning, and burning_._

The train made a final shriek. Than he heard it begin to move along the tracks.

"Republican security, halt immediately!"

No time to start looking for snipers.

In a last desperate move, Bane reached for his belt and pulled out the closest detonator he could find. Then he planted one foot out, turned, and threw it in the direction of the blast. He sucked in one last breath, choking down the pain in his shoulder, and bolted for the train. The floor felt slick with blood.

A dozen alarms went off when the detonator discharged. The crowd screamed in unison. The explosion heated his back and made the ground shudder. He didn't care to turn around and see how much damage it caused. Black smoke and debris were already filling the train station. The Republican droid's voice went static. Just as the train doors were beginning to close, Bane hopped up the steps and slipped inside. Once through the doors, he quickly placed his blasters back in their holsters. The blinding light was gone, but his shoulder felt like it was on fire.

"What the hell was that?" the train passengers were gasping all around him. A few were sobbing about how they could have been hurt or killed. Truly, pitiful to listen to.

The Dio's and the Corrino's had been allies for over a decade, and everyone knew about that. Of course the Dio's would be the first in on the vengeance against Gasta and now, Kel and Sexen. This body count was going to get interesting—and exciting, too, as long as his employers kept paying him for it.

But no one had known Bane would be at the train station.

_No _one.

Bane backed up and put his hand over his shoulder to slow the bleeding. It hurt, but was not a new sort of pain, more than not an annoyance that he would have a small chore to do after he had collected his payment. He turned to the nearest passenger, a trembling middle-aged Rodian woman with a gnarled stick for a cane.

"Did you see what happened?" the woman asked before he could speak up.

"I hardly saw any of it. All I caught was the explosion. Must've been hit by a piece of shrapnel."

"Are you all right?"

"I'll be okay. It's just a scratch. Did you happen to see a young Twi'lek get on this train?" he asked, keeping his voice lowered. Fuck, he hated working with civilians.

The old Rodian pointed to the third aisle, eight seats down.

"You mean the Lethan? She's over there. When the first shots went off she turned all purple and coughed up a little blood. We let her lie down and did what we could. She's resting now, but a minute ago she didn't look so good."

As the woman was speaking, something occurred to Bane. No one had known they were going to the train station, _except _Tukoga Noth. He had watched Bane buy the tickets at the cantina. He could have seen which train the tickets were for.

Bane clenched his jaw. So, his little pal Tukoga had finally decided to turn on him after all. Well, it wasn't as if he was the only one around these parts bribing the nearest businessman to keep his nose clean or hold a secret. Tukoga was just like the rest of them—Parasatti, Dooku, Hardeen—as he had known would happen, anyway. To think anyone no matter their occupation or skill could be trusted was reserved for the mystic fools stuck in a self-made fantasy bubble.

He made his way down the aisle and sat down. The Lethan's face was still slightly purple in the cheeks. She was curled up against the window, her eyes closed. Her breaths rose in sharp, quick, little wheezes. With a small sigh, he sat down in the vacant seat next to hers. By then, the bleeding in his shoulder had slowed down and died to a numb aching.

Well, shit. This was going to be more complicated than he thought it would be.

Bane let his head rest against the back of the seat. He suddenly felt tired. Exhausted. No more mistakes. No more slacking off. It _was_ time to get busy, to get back on the road. The time for winding down and cooling off had officially ended as soon as those Dio's started firing at him. Once again, that time had ended. He would be back.

Then his crimson eyes looked down and rested on the face of the Lethan—Blythe. Her eyes were closed but she didn't look asleep, as if she were trying to hear someone speak to her from far away. Her throat trembled with every breath she took, and her arms lay limp at her sides. When he touched her, she was cold.

_She __doesn't even know how to take care of herself, _he thought.

He had been right after all. Now what was he supposed to do?

Slowly, so not to wake her, he put his arm around her shoulder, pulled up her legs until they were draped over his lap, and held her head against his chest. Every time she shook it made him tremble a little. He leaned his good shoulder on the window, watching the city drift by. There had always been too many people here. Too much noise, too much screaming.

Bane touched, delicately, the gaps were her ribcage was visible. Pale, crisscrossing stretch marks crackled against his fingers. There were overlapping scars against the insides of her thighs. In spite of his growing disdain for the burden she was becoming, he began to wonder. How many times had Solarin killed an unwanted, accidental infant in her so she could give him all the more profit? How many times had some drunk promised to do it the safe and easy way and ended up causing some serious and uncalled for damage?

Bane had seen other Twi'lek girls just like this one, and he had paid for a passionate ten minutes with a couple of them as well. But none of them had been this sick, this half-dead, or half-alive.

What had happened to her?

It was at that moment that he suddenly remembered—

_ The only method of survival was to do what anybody wanted you to do for a price._

That wasn't just her. That was _him_.

But it couldn't possibly be the same, _could _it.

* * *

><p><em>Revision Note:<em>

_The relationship between Cad Bane and Blythe is established as a tad darker in this one (as if it couldn't be anymore). Basically more of a confirmation that Bane only views her as an object and almost a sub-species. A view, of course, that is tested by the end of the chapter. And, added a sweet little parallelism to wrap up the day._


	5. Animal Hunt

_"Space Bound"_

_Chapter Five: Animal Hunt_

* * *

><p><em>"Oh, Like a fever b<em>_urning faster_  
><em>You spark the fire in me<em>  
><em>Crazy feeling, g<em>_ot me reeling_  
><em>They got me raising steam<em>  
><em>Don't you struggle<em>  
><em>Don't you fight<em>  
><em>Don't you worry<em>  
><em>'Cause it's your turn tonight"<em>

_-AC/DC, "Let Me Put My Love Into You"_

* * *

><p>As a tip for taking out three Dio's, the total came out to forty-five thousand credits once he had arrived to collect the payment. Obviously a meek sum considering his employer could toss out millions without batting an eye, but Bane wasn't going to gripe. It was never good business to play with a bigger gun in someone else's hand. Besides, for the time being, it would be enough to get him by. But not much longer.<p>

The time for settling down was over, and for getting back on the road, long overdue.

That is another important aspect of the bounty hunter one must never forget. Not only does he know when to lay low, but he must maintain almost ingenious timing at jumping back into the circle of money and corpses. He must keep up a habit of sharpening the sixth sense of current weather patterns, until the air is cool enough to build up another storm. To lose touch with this sixth sense is not only foolish and the mark of an amateur but a sure way to jump into the lane of traffic too early or too late. And nobody wants to be roadkill.

During the next few days, Bane made all the regulatory preparations. He purchased a system upgrade in _Xanadu Blood_, which was waiting at a nearby rental shop. Todo 360, his techno-service droid, went to work resetting Bane's account, ordering a new set of weapons to add to his collection and issuing out an open slot to all his clients. Once the order had been set in place, Bane sent the droid off to wait in _Xanadu Blood _while he remained at their new hideout. Nicknamed Number One, it was his only other living area on Coruscant, naturally, for occurrences such as these when Happyface became more unwelcoming than not. It was cheap, efficient but cheap, and well hidden from any locals who might happen to have a grudge set against him. Only the bare minimum of associates, which luckily excluded Tukoga Noth, knew of Number One and its location. It was chillier, too. Something about the heating ducts breaking down a month or so ago.

And now, only the worst part was left, which was the waiting. Waiting for the call to fill in the next two weeks to six months, possibly more. But for someone carrying both the resume, reputation, and contacts as Bane had, the waiting could never last long.

Three nights after the train station incident, Cad Bane unlocked the door to the apartment to find a hologram screen revealing a transmission was being sent from Nal Hutta.

_Nal Hutta_. His only clients there were the Hutts.

Bane let the signal come through and a hologram popped up of one of the Hutts, whom he was pretty sure was Jabba. A protocol droid stood next to the Hutt, and was the first to speak.

_"The Hutt clan requests your services, bounty hunter Cad Bane."_

Bane nodded once in recognition. He faintly noticed the Lethan was still lying on the bed, just where he had left her that morning. Go figure. The pills she had taken kicked the rug out from under her yesterday as well. As long as she would get up later, he didn't mind it all that much.

"How do you require my services?"

The Hutt spoke to the droid, who translated.

_"The almighty Jabba asks if you are familiar with the name of Orett Solarin."_

"What is he worth to the Hutts?" Bane asked, keeping his voice calm and steady.

He something boil inside him. _Solarin._ Just when he thought he had finished dealing with that shit bag. What could he have in common with the Hutts?

_"He is the head of an underground trafficking organization and is one of our secondary contacts for services. To expand his business, he entered a scandal that cost the Hutt family almost five million credits. The Hutts wants you to terminate Orett Solarin for this outrage against them, and as a warning to his followers should they attempt this treachery a second time."_

After considering the alternative, Bane decided to act innocent to Orett Solarin's identity, and come across as slightly uninterested in the job. A potential employee wavering on the fence was sometimes just enough to provoke a reasonable raise in the price. Worked almost every time. Besides, killing jobs were the hardest kind, the dirtiest, the cream of the crop. Nobody likes to die. At least, by someone else's hand.

"Where is he located?"

_"The Almighty Jabba says Orett Solarin works close by on Coruscant. The last reporting of him was in the Happyface distrcit. He adds he is sure someone like yourself at least has some knowledge as to where to find him and his __products__."_

Bane decided to let the comment slide. It was more truth than not, anyway.

"If you want an assassination, I'll have to triple my rate. That is, if you'd rather not leave a clean trail back," he said.

_"The Hutts wants to know if he can be dead within six weeks, and if so, the rate will be tripled as you requested."_

"I can do better than six weeks."

_"Do you agree to the Hutts' terms, then?"_

"It's a deal," said Bane, and nodded a second time.

After the protocol droid provided translation, Jabba appeared rather pleased. All this time, Bane had had no idea a Hutt could actually make that sort of face. A moment passed, and then the signal from Nal Hutta was lost.

_Kill _S_olarin_. Kill a Human. Sounded entertaining.

What luck that he should be getting paid a handsome load for it as well. It was almost too much. A job he would enjoy _and_ financially benefit from was nothing short of a rare treat for the bounty hunter, like a free dessert left out in the open.

He kicked off his boots with a grunt and set his hat on the table, which was cluttered with an array of various tools and medical supplies he had been stocking up on. The reflection of traffic lights danced on the opposite wall as he unhooked his holsters and his belt and set them aside. Behind him, Bane heard the Lethan drag her body out of bed. He stood up to take off his coat. Once he had, the cold draft hanging over the room cut deeper into his blood. His breathing tubes came out with a deep hissing sound, soothing against the 'natural' noises from the couple in the next apartment was making.

The Lethan looked to be full of energy again, recovered from whatever the medicine hit her with before.

Good sign.

"You gonna kill my Orett, Bane Cad?" she asked, her voice cracking on the first and last syllables.

He could detect no emotion in her tone. There was no horror, guilt, joy, or relief whatsoever. It was just the way he wanted her. As a blank page. Waiting to be written on all over. Not so much as a simple question as to where he had been all this time.

Bane approached her. Right behind her was the bed, bare but unmade.

"That's correct," he said. He paused for a second or two. Three days ago he had been sitting in front of the bathroom sink with this girl draped over his lap, washing the grease off her face. Since then, her breathing had seemed to improve and leveled out to normal, but she was still too shaken up from the train station incident to step outdoors yet. So he had pulled back. He couldn't do that much longer.

Especially if he would have to leave her behind for some time.

And Bane kissed her. She didn't stop him. She belonged to him.

Against his thin, hard, cracked lips, hers were round and soft and wet. She sucked in a quick gasp for air as their tongues met and collided in their mouths, rolling over each other and sharing their saliva. She felt his hand rise to her chin and pull it up for her. He pulled his mouth off of hers to nip teasingly at her bare neck and collarbone, an immediate signal of what he was requesting for the remainder of the evening. She lost control of her tongue as it began licking off every drop of sweat on him she could find, molding her shape into his to reach the harder parts and melt into the easier ones. His fingers were cool against her back as he reached behind to unhook her bra strap, feeling for her accumulating moisture.

The Lethan felt herself being backed up into the bedroom, forcefully as if she were under attack by a predator. His clutch around her waist tightened, and she placed her hands on his shoulders to steady herself. She reached up to take off his shirt. He felt her legs moving against his. Her fingers began caressing over his bare shoulders and chest, feeling for layers of scars she hadn't known were there before.

Then she landed backwards onto the bed. Instantly he noticed the Lethan clamp her mouth shut so she would not utter a sound, and in that brief moment of silence that was not meant to last she heard him smile for her, for this was his control and she was about to follow every rule. She lay face-down as he practically towered over her, squeezing her wrists, licking his lips with the utmost precision. The room was dark, all of the lights shut off, and the taste of spice and cigarettes had already filled the Lethan's mouth.

It occurred to her that he had stopped.

"Yeah, Bane Cad?" she whispered as quietly as she could.

"Give it to me," he purred.

She shut her mouth again, and then, as her legs twisted over and around his hips and stomach, she rolled up on top of him. His fingers dug deep into her back until the hold pulled her closer, and a sharp sting erupted from her chest and down her arms and legs, an old sensation but always a new reaction. Her hands glided over his stomach. Finally, she found a belt loop and pulled down until his hot flesh was against hers. Playing with one of her lekku, he buried his face in her neck, arms around her back, touching and pulling. He held her head up and kissed her again and reached forward. There she was. And then the connection was ultimate, the bond was real, the oneness made. He literally felt her inside him. She was as hot as fire. And she was beautiful.

His mouth was full of the taste of her sweat, her perfume, her water. He pried his flesh off of hers, and it felt like one million credits had just been ripped out of his hands. He felt soaked to the skin; after all, he was. Despite her struggle to resist he heard her let out a long, painful sigh. He did not know what was going through her mind in that instant, and neither did he care to. There was probably nothing there at all.

In the treacherous, perspiring heat of the darkness, a flash of brilliant red preceded the small whisper of a little red girl.

"Again...?" She rolled herself off of him, his hands sliding along her hips, until she lay across from him.

He did not reply for a long while, until he had caught his breath.

"No. Don't...move." He opened his eyes and stroked his jaw with one thumb, watching for her reaction. "Listen. I'll have to leave you here for a little while, _mesh'la_."

Blythe closed her eyes, and then opened them a moment later.

"No," she moaned pitifully. It was a sound he hated more than anything—a begging, a pleading for mercy or retribution. "No. Don't leave without me…"

"Listen, now. If you knew any better, you'd know it can't stay simple. I've got my own work to do."

"Just one day, I find my little blue boy. Before them pirates buy me, I knew _you_. Remember? I mean, that little talk? Everything. But..." she chuckled softly, "whattin I do when Bane Cad leave me?"

Her fingers rising and falling over the scars on his chest, each stroke tingling with curiosity as to how he got each one. She paused. "Don't leave without me."

"I'll pay someone to make sure you stay out of trouble. A few weeks. Maybe more."

"How many days?"

"None of your damn business," he grunted.

Blythe inched up until her head rested on the pillow.

"Don't leave without me. Want to come with you."

"_No._" Then, sensing he had been too harsh, he said it a second time. "No. You never going to do that to yourself and to me, bring on that kind of danger. Do you ever stop to think? Do you think at all?"

He tried not to imagine it. Caring for her while trying to get the job done, while she was still taking the medicine to clean her up? Might as well ask him to haul a couple Tattooine moons around on his shoulders while you're at it. Really, no one could be as stupid as her. Of all the whores out there that could have been thelittle red girl, this was it. A girl who did not understand anything about how the galaxy turned.

"Fuck danger," Blythe whispered.

He wanted to say "Fuck _you_," to her, but he didn't.

"_Mesh'la,"_ he said, "I make the rules. You belong to me. You are going to stay here while I'm gone. When I come back, things will be a helluva lot better."

_For me. Most likely, not for you._

"Better mean nuttin to me, Bane Cad." And even then, she managed to crack that all too familiar smile. She lowered her head and rested it on his chest, listening to his heart pump faster and faster. "Hey. Blythe gonna miss you, boy. Not like somebody I get to see every day."

Bane wished this would never stop, that she would always lay warm and sopping wet on top of him. That fantasy did not have to conform to reality. That whatever had happened the other night and tonight could belong to him for every minute, no matter how absurd such an assumption was. Because when he had it to hold, there was something from somewhere he could remember again.

In fact, for a fleeting moment, he thought the unpardonable thought.

He didn't need his money, as long as he had this girl.

However, the thought was gone as quickly as it had come. He would be dead now were it not for his money, obviously; fuck, she would be dead, too. He would have been killed years ago, a small, sickly, and worthless body left to rot on the street. But it was the life of the bounty hunter that saved him from such a fate, and such a life equaled money. Compared to credits and the means to attain them, the Lethan was nothing.

Strange that the thought should so much as occur to him.

Seconds inevitably turned into minutes. He looked down at himself and it dawned on him how much dirt and grime his body had collected in the past few days. He had been so focused on preparations a few less important tasks had been pushed to the back shelf. With that, Bane untangled himself out of the Lethan and the bed sheets to start up a shower. Blythe, cold and damp all over, got up to follow him.

In the shower, there was barely just enough room for the both of them, but neither minded. She started by rubbing the soap up and down his back. Her hands massaged in tight circles once she reached his shoulders. In them she felt the sore bruises and aches of a body that had been tossed around, beaten up, punched, and kicked through all the typical everyday jobs of a bounty hunter, years of it embedded deep. The harder she rubbed, the louder his painful grunts became, a sound for some reason she loved to hear, and he knew it. But he didn't mind. It felt good. Almost _too _good.

When she finished, he turned her around and washed her lekku, slowly so not to hurt her. The air was so thick was steam he almost felt feverish, but not quite there. It was a relief to have that layer of filth and dry sweat washed away, scrubbed off down to the raw, bare skin. As the soap ran down her back and her arms, she pressed her hands against the glass, shivering in spite of the heat. He kissed the bathwater off her neck and her shoulders, and kept going until she turned around and complied. By the time they were done, the walls were streaked with all the soap that once covered them.

It was long past sunset on Coruscant by the time he had dried her and himself off, and he had to dress in the dark. Best shower he had in a long time. And many more to come to celebrate his next payday, for sure. It was a nice thought to bring along on the job.

Then he heard her say it again—"Don't leave without me. Don't leave without me.

"Please. _Don't_ leave without me, Bane Cad…"

"Shut your mouth, or I'll do it for you," Bane hissed. But he regretted it the next instant, because he heard her recoil, step back, and sit down on the bed, breathing strangely. She watched as he pulled on his duster. Only by the streetlight from outside could he see her face in the shadows. At least the grease was all gone. At least she was clean of all those other fellows' fingerprints and _their _grease. Again, she dared herself to speak up.

"Who—who lookin after me?"

"I got that shit covered. It should be the least of your worries," Bane answered. "But first things first. I have to pick up my ship. You won't go anywhere or do anything while I'm gone. You know what I'm talking about. Understand?"

"Oh. Oh, right. That. _Nuttin_ at all, Bane Cad?"

"_Nuttin _at all," he said, unable to resist the urge to mimic her. He fastened the tubes into his cheeks, somewhat relieved to have the familiar sensation back. Then, after a hasty consideration, he slipped a third blaster into a well hidden spot embedded inside his coat, a custom-made pouch that made even the heavier hand-held weapons difficult to find in a pat down.

_Kill Solarin._ He couldn't wait to see blood that ran the color red again.

At the last second, Bane turned around to see the Lethan lying across the bed, only dressed in the technical term, trying to close her eyes to appear asleep. Nobody was coming to mind as to whom he could trust to watch over her as she was still taking the medicine, but perhaps she would be all right anyway. Perhaps.

No—not likely at all. All well. It had been nice.

He walked down the hallway and stepped outdoors. The instant Bane did, his chest froze with the sudden inhale of cold night air, sharp against the humidity from the shower. The street was black and stunk of bloody vomit and cheap cosmetics. This neighborhood was run by a group of crime lords who specialized in smuggling, and consequently there were many storage yards. Unlike Happyface, it was strangely, almost eerily, _quiet_. As if a thousand noises that should be at the top of their lungs had been suddenly silenced. In Happyface, there would be music oozing from the seedy bars and whorehouses, lights dancing on overhanging HoloNet screens, a virgin girl screaming in an alleyway, and some half-formed creature having a bad hangover.

Not here.

Here, the danger was not in the overabundance, but in the absence thereof. Not the noise, but the silence. Not the drooling figures in the shadows, but the drooling figures that weren't there, and should be there. That terrible _silence_.

Cad Bane hated that about this place no matter how well of a hiding place it was. In his very humble opinion, anything was better than empty, hollow silence. It made one start thinking about things he shouldn't think about, things that distract him, yet all that damned _silence_ is enough to drive the worst of thoughts stir crazy. Old images and voices, once thought buried in an ocean trench, come springing up and sucking like leeches, old things that smelled of fear and tasted of blood. Just, where was the fucking _noise_. As the bloody vomit odor thickened, Bane also picked up the scent of an upcoming shortcut. If he cut through the next alley and a shipping yard to his left, he knew, he would arrive at the rental shop twelve minutes earlier than he had hoped. Might prove to be precious time, too.

The silence was starting to ring up a shrill, high-pitched shriek that only meant trouble was on the house. He knew that sound anywhere. He had to get out of here fast. Without thinking twice about it, Bane turned into a dark and narrow lane between two stale buildings. Not one figure, whether reptilian or rodent or half-zombie, was in sight—not one.

He paused. Surely, by now, he should have run into at least a small handful, even in this neighborhood. It was as if everyone had deserted or died of a thousand simultaneous cardiac arrests. Surely _someone _must be here. He would've spotted them already.

Suppose that someone didn't _want_ to be spotted…

Something was off.

That was his last thought before he spun around and there was a crushing blow to the back of his head, and the lights went out.

* * *

><p>These were his next thoughts, or rather, what he perceived from above.<p>

_Better contact him soon and tell him. He'll know what to do._

_ But we can't. No signal in this stinkhole neighborhood._

_ Quiet, will you? If anyone spots us, I'll have to break for it._

The side of Bane's head felt damp. There was a grainy, concrete surface underneath him. His arms ached.

"Hey, Desh, I think he's coming to."

"Don't let him get up, okay?"

Even then, as his senses were slowly becoming more reality instead of a dream, he thought quietly,

_Bit too late for that now._

Bane didn't know where he was or what time it was, but it was as dark as it had been the last time he was awake. Walls of shipping cargo loomed overhead like a maze of skyscrapers. His hands and wrists felt sore, numb, as if all the blood had been sucked out of them. Unfortunately, he remembered that feeling well. Two black figures stood over him as his back scraped against the ground. He was moving. Not on his own.

Half a second later, Bane rolled over on his side and swung his leg up in an arching kick, taking out the left figure's kneecap. The figure cried out in alarm and stumbled backwards. Adrenalin surged through the bounty hunter's muscles. He pushed himself to his knees and drove a fist up into the right figure's jaw. The blood rushed back into his arms, which felt like a thousand red-hot blades stabbing all at once. He glanced down and saw metal binders were on his wrists.

_Damn. Do they never learn?_

"I told you…!" one of the figures howled.

Cad Bane jumped to his feet in a single leap. A tempest of dizzying nausea swarmed in his head. Choking on hot bile, he kicked the left figure square in the solar plexus. Then he swerved to the side and shot his knee up the other's groin. He could tell just by the feel of them that the binders were of dirt cheap material. With a twist of one of the locks, they snapped off. Shit, that always felt good—to be free.

The figure on the right was an outtie, the consequence of when a male's protection over his precious jewels is violated. However, the left one was still ready to take a few more. Bane took a single step back. Knowing that they would have disarmed him of his double blasters, he reached for the hidden third one. It was good to know it was still there. They must have been in a hurry to get somewhere if they didn't give him a more thorough searching; otherwise they probably would have found it.

The left figure made a pounce for him, like a panther. Bane yanked out the blaster, jumped back, and let it burn three holes in the chest of the attacker.

"Desh!" shouted the right one.

Bane spun around on one heel, which burned all the way up his leg, and fired. He missed.

A beam of lime-green light appeared in front of him. Bane flinched, jumped back, and fired again, temporarily blinded, as his eyes had grown accustomed to the darkness. The beam swerved in front of him and he had to roll out of the way in a nick of time. The figure was back up, knees knocking against each other, yelling "Desh!" over and over again.

What the hell _was that thing_?

Then it came to him. It was a lightsaber. He'd dealt with those before.

Well—no problem.

Bane projected his cable and let it wind around the handle of the lightsaber. Then he gave it a good tug with his arm, and the lime-green light beam spun in circles right past him. He let his blaster have at it a few more shots. The figure cried out and fell backwards into a scorched heap on the ground.

Bane paused for a breath of silence. The left figure was officially out and dead cold. The lightsaber wielding one, he realized, was still holding on, clutching at the hole in his stomach, and letting out painful gasps for air. He was a young male human, wearing a simple tunic and a long dark cloak.

Regardless of the lightsaber, there was no way he could be a Jedi Padawan. Those kids hold out much longer in a dance.

"Oh, _God_," the figure gasped, and stretched out a blood-soaked hand and sleeve.

Without waiting another moment, the Duros bounty hunter planted his foot on top of the human's chest, pinning him to the ground. Then Bane knelt down and pressed the nose of the blaster into his temple.

"Pray tell what you were planning to do, little man," Bane hissed.

The human shook his head in defiance.

"I'm no little man, _sleemo_. I'm Jela Emall, and you fucking murdered my master Desh."

Another one of those cocky little brats who never cooperate. Of course, he would know the type.

"Who told you I'd be here?" he demanded, impatience growing in his tone.

The kid didn't respond. He looked to be nearing his eighteenth year or so, maybe less, but had one or two scars on his face and neck to show he had already experienced the definition of a hard fight. Bane gave him a sharp box on the ear to get his attention.

"Nobody had to _tell_. Solarin said someone's stolen from him. Bet _that _name means nothing to you, _bounty hunt_—"

Frustrated, Bane stomped his boot down on the boy's gaping stomach wound. What followed was a high-pitched scream nowhere close to brave or youthful or boyish. It was more like the sound of a baby being raped.

A chill ran down Bane's spine. That scream was _familiar_. He remembered hearing it a long time ago.

And then he remembered it had come out of his own mouth, when his father's belt had hacked into his mother's back the day she died with her blood all over him.

He had to shake the thought away, _quickly_.

There, it's gone now. That's better.

"Where did you get that lightsaber?" he pressed.

"Where do you…you think, _sleemo_? Not so hard to get me one of those," the boy replied.

"Then why don't you tell me what this Orett Solarin is to you, and you can die painlessly."

"I'm his…he—" the kid gurgled on blood in the back of his throat, his face twisted in agony.

"Spit it out," he barked.

"_Hired me_. Now…you happy?" He tried to get up, but his entire body was out of the game, all but his unscathed right arm and hand.

Now knowing what he wanted to know, Bane pointed his blaster between the boy's eyes. Maybe kids deserve a quick, clean death. Then when they reach a certain age, putting them out of their misery is not so much common decency as it is drudgery.

"I don't like smugglers," said Bane, and rewarded the kid with that common decency. It was the least he could do.

A dark red puddle was spreading around his feet. He briefly checked the other body to be certain it wasn't still breathing, then dragged both between two large crates. While searching them, he found his double blasters, a half-empty bottle of Membrosia, and a communication device with a Republican symbol. He felt for the bump on the back of his head. It wasn't too bad. Might be sore for a while, though.

Of course Solarin would be hiring out smugglers. How else could he get his business from system to system? But it wasn't that part that left Bane feeling a bit disillusioned, maybe even shaken up—it was the kid's lightsaber. A _lightsaber_…Here, really?

Sure, sure. Sometimes a smuggler gets lucky, finds a weapon on a dead Jedi, and makes his best sale of the year. Smugglers are a crock of stupidity, but not nearly enough to use such an item as a stolen lightsaber during a fight no matter what the situation called for. That meant either the kid had stolen it for non-smuggling purposes or hadn't stolen it at all.

Had he really been a Jedi Padawan? He couldn't have, could he?—not with his puny fighting skills. It didn't add up. Didn't make sense.

Bane could recall one of his most memorable encounters with a Jedi. It had been General Skywalker and his little Padawan when he had been hired to steal a Jedi holocron. He had also come face-to-face with none other than General Kenobi and that Windu fellow. Back then he was such a celebrity, and it seemed like he had been quite the popular topic when he was brought on board the Republican ship. Minus that damned Jedi mind-trick ordeal shit, it hadn't even been that terrible.

But no matter how naive, conceited, or plain obnoxious the Jedi were, even he, Cad Bane, had to admit that they were more than just diplomatic warriors. They lived for something. They _had _something. There was an air of confidence, integrity, and nobility about them, something that drove them to put their lives on the line for each other and give more than they took. And that was what Bane could let himself respect about the Jedi, however much he would instantly take all three to his advantage given the opportunity.

Supposing that boy _had_ been a Padawan, hired by Solarin, did that mean the two groups were allies? That the Jedi shared a link to the goddamn pimp? Surely not the _Jedi _would…

He stopped. There was no time to think about that right now.

Bane returned his third blaster to its hiding place and retrieved the rest of his weapons. Then he began walking ahead in the direction the two had been headed in before. After brief consideration, Bane left the lightsaber behind. Didn't want to carry around such a wanted token in a job such as this. There were enough smoking hoodlums after him as it was.

It was still too quiet. Surroundings became all the more bleak and lost in the darkness as the final traces of light faded out. He wiped blood from his face and briefly tasted the air, but there was nothing but the smell of dead things. Young dead things. Then, up ahead a ways, a good hundred yards, he heard the drone of a spacecraft. It sounded croaked and impatient. He walked on ahead, listening for voices, footsteps, rustling, anything to give him a lead. There was none but his own=. He crept down a lane to the right—no, turn around and make that _left_. Then down another, and _then _to the right. The ship was closer,

He paused to listen again. If that ship took off before he arrived, he would lose his first key in unlocking his next payday.

After making his way down the third lane, he could make out the ship sitting on a landing platform up ahead, silhouetted against the cold night air. It was whirring to life. He quickly pinned his back to the wall of shipping crates behind him. As the landing platform lights flickered on in unison, a face appeared, as if to glow, in the cockpit of the ship. A face he recognized. It was Solarin.

Just as the ship was lifting into the air, Bane reached for his belt, pulled out a small tracking device, and made a dash out for the open. Then, arching his arm as far back as it could go, he threw the device at the underbelly of the fast-accelerating ship. He sucked in a breath of relief when the tracking device hooked underneath the right wing. He had but a fleeting moment to see it light up and self-activate before the ship was gone. Its bellow echoed in the air as it disappeared from sight.

That was easy. No. It was _too _easy.

* * *

><p>When Cad Bane arrived at the small rental shop, <em>Xanadu Blood <em>was ready and waiting for him, with Todo 360 hibernating inside. Business was slow in the shop at one AM, and only half of the garages were currently vacant. The Skrilling shop owner fiddled with the security lock a bit before his oily fingers finally typed the right keys in and he opened the door. Inside the rusted-up garage, Bane's ship had been refueled and prepared for departure. Bane, without waiting for the shop owner to speak up, handed him the rent in the form of a handful of credit chips. He climbed into the cockpit of _Xanadu Blood_. It still smelled of cheap cigarettes and hyperdrive oil, as it always did. The air in the garage was stale and dry.

"Anything else you need 'fore you take off?" the Skrilling demanded, who was removing the braking locks as Bane warmed up the engine. Even from a dozen feet away, Bane could see the yellow oil on the shop owner's lumpy, flaky flesh. It dripped from his shoulders and stuck to the beads of sweat on his forehead and neck.

"No 'tanks," said Bane. "I got to be going."

The Skrilling backed away as the engines roared to life.

"Have a good time, wherever you're going," he hollered out.

"Ain't exactly planning on that." He closed the cockpit and pulled the ship out of the garage and into the night. Up above was a cloak of star-filled blackness and Coruscant's dim city lights. Five minutes later, he had penetrated the cloak and prepared the ship to go into hyperspace.

Before Bane did, however, he turned on Todo 360 and told the droid to send a message to a woman named Ael, a Duros who lived four apartments down from his. She was a deathstick addict with a boyfriend who bought and sold cocaine. He had considered Ael a while back, but his blue and her turquoise had just never seemed to mix too well. Ael was a cool, smart little gal, considering the environment she grew up in and lived in surrounded by a bunch of cool, stupid friends. He could trust Ael to make sure Blythe got her meals, her sleep, and her fresh air.

He hoped he could trust Ael.

He hoped.

* * *

><p><em>Author's Note:<em>

_Gawd, I love this chapter. Not much more than a little polishing up and a refreshment to fit in better with future chapters. And added to the darker dynamic between Cad Bane and Blythe. I feel kind of awkward with writing erotic scenes so I would like to know how you think I did. Very few changes to the rest of the chapter. TTFN._


	6. Ruminations in Xanadu Blood

_"Space Bound"_

_Chapter Six: Ruminations in _Xanadu Blood

* * *

><p><em>"It's holding me, morphing me<br>And forcing me to strive  
>To be endlessly cold within<br>And dreaming I'm alive  
>'Cause I want it now<br>I want it now  
>Give me your heart and your soul<br>And I'm not breaking down  
>I'm breaking out<br>Last chance to lose control"_

_-Muse, "Hysteria"_

* * *

><p>The Duros woman stuck the remaining half of a deathstick between her index and middle fingers. Her hands were blackened by grease, her face damp with cold sweat, and her red eyes paled with prolonged fatigue. She wore a stringy, beer-stained shawl that draped over her bald head and her shoulders. Dried specks of dirt filled the pores in her skin. Her legs were crossed over the footstool at the ankle, bare but for the black fishnets, and if one looked hard enough he would spot a few stray artificial pubic hairs sticking out through the holes. With a long, raspy sigh, the woman sat up straight and expelled dry nicotine smoke through her two front teeth. In front of her, in her open palm, was a holographic message sent to her an hour and a half ago sent after one AM local Coruscant time. Must be fairly important, in that case. Her voice crackled like dry, dead grass when she spoke.<p>

"Cad Bane hasn't seen _me_ in a while," she said to herself, browsing over the message again. Then she uncrossed her legs, blinking crust out of the corners of her dulled eyes. She dunked the last of the deathstick in the overflowing ashtray only to light up another. "What could he want with me he didn't get already? What's in this for me, man?"

She thought for a moment or two. Her current beau, not the first and certainly not the last in a string of males who received her services for free at the expense of quote-unquote 'relationship benefits', was currently somewhere in the Outer Rim doing cocaine business with pirates. He wouldn't be back for at least another two weeks. Her circle of friends was back in the neighborhood after returning from Nal Hutta. And her old accomplice Cad Bane could very well be gone for a good month or so, depending on how long this _job_ of his would take.

This way, nothing could go awry. Nobody would discover the truth.

The Duros woman later found her old friend's apartment and who—what—was inside. As soon as she saw the Lethan Twi'lek girl, she knew she was looking at a prostitute. She knew it when she saw the purple veins bulging out of the girl's lekku and bare thighs, the indigo-tinted ovals under her eyes and cupped ears. Her eyelashes were matted and uneven, her ribs sticking out of her sides.

"What is he doing with this thing in here?" she wondered aloud.

The Lethan girl said nothing. She was silent, eyes closed, but not sleeping.

By then, the Duros woman had at least the basics of the message memorized in her head. For one-thousand credits a week, she had to practically baby-sit Cad Bane's latest object of pleasure—give her something to eat, keep her cleaned up, and check on her once a day. Otherwise the girl could fend for herself as long as she did not step out of bounds. That was all he asked of her. Seemed far too little to ask for a whore like _this_.

Of course, it _was _Cad Bane's whore, she remembered.

She couldn't recall him ever having one of his own before, but this would've been about all she expected from him. Too frugal for class, dirty enough for some risks, but keen enough to scrape up some quality in both looks and experience. He must have recently felt lonely or needing something to look forward to in his free time.

He probably saw this whore as nothing but his pet.

That sounded like her old friend all right. If she even dared to call him that.

Plus, even though one-thousand a week was cheap labor by what she knew of Bane's income, cash was still cash. She'd never forgive herself if she turned down cold hard cash. Why, cash means more deathsticks, more life.

"Nah, I don't think he'd mind at all," said the Duros woman. "Even if my beau found out about it, he'd understand. It's just business. It's just business. Just business."

Nothing could go wrong for what she was about to do.

* * *

><p>Cad Bane checked the tracking signal one last time before taking <em>Xanadu Blood <em>out of hyperspace.

"Where do you think you're going, Solarin?" he wondered aloud.

"Were you expecting a direct answer? Because as far as I can tell, he's _not_ within contacting range," Todo 360 replied.

For a droid, which technically did not feel any emotion, Todo had a way of letting that heavy sarcasm drip into his tinny voice.

Bane was about to do something, but since he wasn't even sure what it was, he forgot about the whole thing. He let himself relax a bit in the cockpit seat.

"No, I wasn't," he said dryly.

The droid shut up. It was a pleasant sound.

It had been over two weeks now, maybe a day or two over. All that time had been spent alone, and droids didn't count as company in Bane's datapad. For two weeks, he had not spoken to anyone but Todo 360, to himself, and he didn't enjoy having to keep up either of those conversations. For two weeks he had done little more than sitting around in the cockpit, stopping and refueling, keeping up with the signal from Solarin's tracking beacon, and using careful precision with where he landed and how close he strayed to the tracking beacon so Solarin would not suspect he was being followed. Space travel had never settled too well with Bane—he preferred hard, dry land—but it was all going to be over soon. Very soon, hopefully.

Normally, Bane wouldn't mind being alone for such a long period of time.

He never liked crowds, because when you came down to it, all creatures big and small were ultimately a pain in the ass, and he had yet to meet a male or female he would go out of his way to spend more time in the company of. Small talk and overabundant socialization could be useful in obtaining information about a target, no doubt about it, but it took a heavy toll on the mind's sharpness. A rejuvenating experience at a place like Hawke Noth was one thing. Energy spent on a group of drinking, partying buddies was another entirely. In his opinion it was the periods of alone time spent reviewing equipment and skills, developing backup plans, and staying as prepared as possible to stay up on top, that were all marks of a day well spent, _not _getting the scoop on the latest gossip. And on a normal night for him, this was the case.

But now he didn't feel so normal.

For two weeks something had been different. As if he had left something behind that he would regret not bringing with later. A spare blaster? A medical kit? Couldn't be.

He couldn't shake off the feeling that he was supposed to be doing something that he was _not _doing, that he did not have something that he _should _have. And the more the feeling dwelt in the cockpit of _Xanadu Blood_, a little ghost cold and tingling, the longer the hours spent boring into the blackness of outer space dragged on. The absence of light should be normal—the silence should be normal—hell, everything normal was set right for the time being but something could _not _be right. It was some sort of unnatural absence. It was like a cold shiver that wouldn't leave his body no matter how many layers he packed on, or an appetite that couldn't even be satisfied with the richest gourmet Corellian cuisine.

This so-called _ghost_ had been lurking in the _Xanadu Blood _cockpit for the past two weeks, deliberate and persistent—striving to make him snap and need something sudden or loud like a screaming girl or a blinding light. And it hung on like a bad taste one couldn't rinse from his mouth, a stain one couldn't scrub off a favorite jacket, or that pestering little wooden sliver under the skin that just wouldn't come out.

Whatever it was, Bane despised it with a silent passion.

It was just another chase, another pursuit of a flying chunk of warm meat about to be cooked and handed over in butcher paper to Bane's client. Other than the fact that he happened to be Human, there was nothing that made Orett Solarin so special. _Nothing_.

So what was it? What had he left behind?

What was making the blackness and the silence enough to make him explode?

_Just focus and get this done. No worries, then._

Bane pulled himself out of his thoughts as he landed _Xanadu Blood _in the next fueling station, which was on some small rock moon dotted with small towns. Solarin might as well have traveled across the whole fucking galaxy, what with his stopping at every other system to do trading and making petty bargains off the side. It only made it more difficult to follow the tracking signal undetected. Not impossible, but difficult. He hadn't gotten a thorough look at the ship when it took off, but now he was almost certain it was a cargo ship. Obviously, that meant it was dropping off and picking up Solarin's goods.

One of the workers at the fueling station flashed Bane a funny little smile as the Duros bounty hunter exited the loading ramp, as if there was something on Bane's face. And the worker was a Human too, just his luck. Bane could have smelled him a mile away. Wordlessly, he lit a cigarette, and pretended to ignore the look the Human was giving him.

It felt like an hour, although it hardly was. Still the little smile remained.

_Fuck. I can't stand this. Why the hell can't I stand these guys?_

"You know the best place to get a drink?" he asked the Human as he walked past. Bane sat down on one of the metal stools while the other workers set to refueling _Xanadu Blood_. Todo 360, playing innocent, remained in the cockpit.

"I'll show you the best joint," the Human said, "if you tell me why you're tracking Orett Solarin."

Cad Bane stopped.

"Are you saying he was just here?" he asked.

"Eh, so I _was _right after all," the Human laughed to himself. He had a strong Corellian drawl and his hair was a flat blonde mass falling over a sunburned forehead, ears, and neck.

"Why don't you answer the question?"

"Hey, take it easy, big guy." The human backed up, holding up his hands. "I'm your friend. I'm your friend. I'm innocent. What is it you want?"

"Sure you are. I want the bounty on Solarin's head," said Bane.

"Oh, I didn't know about that. What's it at?"

"I have no reason to tell 'dat to someone like you. Business matters."

"Sure, sure, I dig you. Bounty hunter secrets and all, yup," he said, nodding his head feverishly. "The guy was just here less than twelve hours ago to refuel and do some business in the stores downtown."

_Well, how helpful._

Depending on this guy's status and how much he knew, or _who _he knew, it might be safest to keep him quiet the simplest way there was.

_ I'll find out soon what's the safest card. For now, more facts._

"What kind of a ship? Any customizations?" Bane decided to ask. It was a safe enough question, and if the Human could be convinced Bane didn't even know what kind of a ship he was following, he could take that to his advantage.

"Some sort of cargo ship. It was an old one. The kind that will have to make lots of stops to refuel."

"Do you have any idea where he's headed?"

The Human chuckled and coughed.

"Afraid I don't, nope. He didn't tell us too much. Didn't pay much either, come to think of it. He wasn't here very long, but I don't think he knew he was being followed. I didn't see much, so I can't be sure. So, um, is that it?"

Bane let out a small sigh that he knew the Human would never understand as one of a slight taste of relief.

This worker couldn't be faking the idiot act. Otherwise, he would be asking more seemingly out of curiosity questions. A small sum would do the trick of silencing him and leaving a spotless trail, for even one meaningless casualty could leave a big enough mess behind for someone else to pick up. There was no need to kill him or issue a heavy threat, as of now, anyway.

"For two-hundred credits, we never had this conversation and you never saw me," he told the worker, handing him the amount of said cash.

The Human beckoned outside the fueling station and nodded.

"Throw in an extra twenty and I'll treat you to a drink a few blocks down."

Bane smirked at the bland joke, but he didn't turn down the offer. He felt like he could use a drink. At least it would make matters feel a bit more normal.

* * *

><p>The Duros woman pulled back her worn shawl to reveal a dark green scar that nearly reached across her whole forehead. She picked an old, greasy scab off one of her knuckles, shutting the door behind her with her ankle. The hologram figure in front of her came to life, blue, buzzing, and shadowed.<p>

"Orett," she said, and coughed on a clog of mucus in her throat. "Long time, no see."

_"Sorry, Ael, but I can't come visit you this week. I—"_

"I have one I'm pretty damn sure belongs to you."

_"Oh, Ael, don't feel like you're bonded to me or—"_

"I'm not talking about _me_, idiot. I'm talking about somebody else entirely."

The figure cocked his head to the side.

_"Funny you should mention that," _he said. _"I just got robbed some days ago by one of those scumbag bounty hunters. And it was easy to tell nobody was paying him to do it."_

"Bane? I never thought he would—you know."

_"Highway robbery, I tell you. I hope you haven't seen him in the past few day. The Corrino brothers on his tail for some death in the family."_

"Is that so?" she sighed loudly, cracking her neck. "I thought you always kept your nose out of personal family businesses."

_"Oh, they've been my customers too long for me to ignore such a juicy drama. I can't help myself when I have so many good friends." _He hesitated, thinking. _"Hey, I'll tell you what, Ael. I'll pay you if you send the girl over to me back on Ryloth. Maybe once I get this thing cleared up, we could have a little, you know, time to ourselves again, like the old days."_

"Well, shit, Orett, I can't get off Coruscant this week and I can't trust anybody to send her over properly. How 'bout I take good care of her 'til you're hap'nin' to be hanging around again?"

_"No touching her, you got that?" _He pointed his finger at her and it poked through his long sleeve. _"I know your type, Ael. You have this _thing _for little Twi'lek girls, don't you. Remember what you did last time?"_

At that, Ael just laughed. Partly because it was true, and partly because it only seemed to bother her favorite client, Orett, when he could use it to his advantage.

"Don't worry, my boy. She's in such good hands," she replied.

Ael kicked the door open as the signal from Ryloth was lost.

* * *

><p>Cad Bane had known they were following him for about fifteen minutes.<p>

There were two Dio boys trailing less than thirty feet behind him. He had spotted them after leaving the cantina, in which the Human worker, poor fool, had let himself be carried away by a few too many rounds of whiskey, and Bane had to leave him passed out in the corner. By the time he had spotted the Dio's loitering outside, it was past midnight.

_Xanadu Blood _and Todo 360 were waiting only a few more blocks down. A few flickering streetlights shed a glow onto the cracked path leading to the fueling station. The street was deserted but for a few residents having a smoke outside their front doors. It was a small, small town for men who wanted to hide, men who wanted to forget, a town left for dead, populated by old folk waiting to die and merchants eager to take advantage of travelers and tourists in need of a rest-stop. It was the sort of place Bane, no matter how much creativity, speculation, and imagination he could muster, could never see himself living in. Not for a lifetime.

Bane pulled up the tracking beacon's log on his wrist link. Quickly he scanned over the data, ignoring the sound of footsteps from behind.

_That's something_.

Why was Solarin on the Ryloth system? If Ryloth was like all the previous stops, he would have left already, but the radar showed he was staying.

At least this meant Bane's space-travel days were numbered.

Bane turned a corner and caught a fleeting glimpse of his followers. They were Dio's, all right. He couldn't help but wonder what sum of money the Corrino's had put on his head. It didn't matter, though. Once Solarin was dead, he would have enough money to stay on the move and not worry about petty crime families putting on an act.

Seventeen minutes, now, they had followed him. To appear casual, Bane lit a cigarette and took a long drag. He wouldn't call himself in the habit, but a smoke was a good companion to carry along in case of an edge or in need of something to burn. He took a deep breath and let the nicotine sink in. The tension in his shoulders eased up a bit. It felt good. The taste of Corellian Ale lingered on his breath.

He pushed the comlink on his wrist gauntlet.

"Todo," he said in a low voice, "have the ship ready to leave the moment I arrive."

_"Will do, Bane, but when exactly are you arriving?"_

"In about thirty seconds."

The silence stung. Maybe it was the Corellian Ale getting to him. All he could hear were those footsteps. And then he could hear a second layer of sounds that were yet to be but he could feel them coming closer, the sound of a blaster drawn out of a holster not his own, a voice warning him what should happen if he didn't stop, or even better, an explosion sending the fueling station up in flames, and any or all or none of it was coming.

They were getting closer, and closer—and closer…

Or was he slowing down?

He picked up the pace a bit. It couldn't hurt.

A dull gray storage building appeared than disappeared on his left.

The footsteps grew louder. They were closer. Then he heard the metal grind against leather, scraping a Boltrunian hand to leave flakes of rust in the pores.

Then Cad Bane drew his own blaster, turned, and fired at the two figures behind him. There was a shout cut off by a thud. Spitting away the cigarette, he ducked into the fueling station.

_Xanadu Blood _was ready for departure. Outside the station the street had stirred up a short-lived ruckus as more blasts were fired. The cigarette smoke swelled in Bane's lungs as he jumped in and strapped himself into the cockpit. Todo fired up the engines. The cockpit window sealed shut. As a pair of Boltrunians cursed at the wind in a struggle for detonators and a hasty return to their own methods of transport, the ship pulled out of the garage and pierced into the night air.

To Ryloth. To Solarin.

"Was that too close a call?" Todo 360 dared to ask.

Down below, the thick cloudy atmosphere vaporized the last of what Bane could see of the small town.

"I am the one who takes the risks here. You just do what I say," Bane snapped as he set his hat aside.

"I have calculated that those two ruffians will not hesitate to pursue us out of the atmosphere. Our chances of being shot down escalate by the millisecond."

"Then get us into hyperspace," said Bane.

He had been fifteen feet from instant death, a blaster to the back of the head or worse. The question wasn't how they knew he was there—someone in town must have known about Gasta, Kel, and Sexen's deaths and reported Bane's appearance to them. What he really wanted to know was why they hadn't just shot at him instead of letting him slip away. Why didn't they take it more seriously.

"Faster, Todo."

The droid's eyes flickered, then it said,

"We are good to go, Mr. Bane."

As _Xanadu Blood _entered hyperspace, leaving behind the small, lonely moon, Bane felt a sting in the back of his head. He waited several seconds for it to go away as quickly as it had come, but it did not.

Maybe the Dio's had been more interested in where he was going.

At the same instant the thought had occurred to him, the sting morphed into the start of a headache. Bane bit back a hiss as he popped a pill into his mouth to clear it up. Headaches were a rarity for him, but like anything else they could attack at random. Unfortunately, of all the times he could have a headache, this was _not _a preferable time.

"Is something the matter, Mr. Bane?"

"No, just getting a goddamn headache..." he grunted.

This one, however, felt different. It didn't just ache. It pounded like a drum behind his skull. He hadn't had this kind of headache in a long time.

_Relax and it'll pass. Not having a drink for a while._

An hour later, still in hyperspace, the headache had not gone away. It had only grown worse. Bane cursed.

He never would have admitted it to anyone, but back in the blackness and the silence, he felt a growing, aching question arouse itself.

_Is the Lethan all right?_

Ael was not the most trustworthy person, only the most accessible one.

But, no. Of course the Lethan was all right. A little medicine would do her just fine.

Why should he even ask the question?

Bane began rubbing his forehead to ease the pain. He even took a second pill. Still, the new headache would not go away. Todo, despite his insisting he wasn't a _butler droid_, picked up on Bane's affliction, and offered to control the ship while they were in hyperspace. Bane couldn't quite remember what he said in reply, but it was something along the lines of he'd get a lot more than a headache if he let a techno-service droidpilot this ship.

Nonetheless, at least he only had to share the cockpit with a little droid. Because he knew if anyone saw him, with this knowing that he was supposed to be doing something that he was _not _doing, that he did not have something that he _should _have, they would see something he didn't want them to see. For the next several hours on his way to the Ryloth system, old memories rekindled in concordance with the swelling headache, and before long it was as if he were in the Republican cell forcing himself not to scream and let those guards gloat over the moment of weakness he had given them when he cried out for mercy. That's what a sweet little ghost did. That's what a wooden sliver did if it festered long enough. And that was why Bane had never liked space-travel.

_No. She's safe. She'll be just fine._

* * *

><p>By what must have been high noon on the planet, <em>Xanadu Blood<em> had arrived at the Ryloth system.

At that point, the headache had moved to the back and was currently working on his attention span. If Bane let himself think about it, he was famished. It was near to impossible to keep up with meals during travels. When he thought about it he probably had not had anything to eat for several days.

Normally, it was not uncommon to deal with such stretches of deprived eating. But, then again, this didn't feel normal. Now, Bane could feel the hunger starting to get to him. Every couple hours or so, his hands would start a subtle, rhythmic shaking and keep at it for several minutes. Whatever it was, Bane was forced to put the ship on auto-pilot and wait until it had passed. The longer it took to approach the system, the more he anticipated when he could walk on solid ground again, and maybe the signs would go away then.

From what one of the workers at the last fueling station had said, the Corrino brothers' price on his head had bloated to a whopping sixty-thousand credits. Luckily, of course, no one at the station had known who he was. Otherwise it might have gone ugly.

For a moment, Bane thought about what sixty-thousand would do.

That's when his hands began shaking again.

_Sixty__, my ass, _he thought to himself once the shaking had stopped. _Let them all come. What can they do but stir the water._

The planet of Ryloth was coming into view.

"Todo," he ordered the droid at his side, "scan the planet's surface for Solarin's ship."

"Let me see…" the droid's yellow, round eyes flickered as its brain made some calculations, "I've found the tracking number. I will get the computer to begin searching."

The scan lasted a total of ten minutes and found...nothing.

Cad Bane snarled, making a mental note to have the ship thoroughly upgraded once this job was over.

"It doesn't look like the scanner picked up anything," said the droid.

"His ship must be under some heavy security radar. Run it again once we're closer to the surface."

"I'm sure we'll find something the second time around. It _has_ been two weeks since the computers were upgraded."

Strange to think that only two weeks ago, Blythe's small, skinny hands were rubbing his bare shoulders, and the cool sweat from her breasts was sticking to his tongue. The delicate but audacious, fragile but excited taste was inside him and he was breathing the victim that surrendered by second nature. He shuddered. Fuck, that couldn't have only been two weeks ago. It was another reality, one memory stored among a sea of countless other memories. And with the remaining salty taste in his mouth he could not help but enjoyably recall past experiences with any other female in a long string of females from the past—the Mos Eisley bartender with the missing leg, the Togruta call girl as his own self-provided reward for a successful hostage crisis, the dancer on Florrum who turned out to be taller than him, and he couldn't the poor virgin servant girl who babbled on about 'making precious love' or some other shit. Some with names he never got and some with names he would never forget. He remembered none of their faces, only how well they had pushed him or how much prompting he had to give.

Every time he closed his eyes, Blythe was staring at him on the other side of the bed, her naked body wrapped in the thin white bed sheets. And the headache pounded with it.

It was aggravating. What could feel so wrong about being _alone _when he had been alone so many times before and for much longer stretches? Why didn't this feel _normal_?

What made that girl so special that he could not get her face out of his mind?

_Damn her, _Bane thought with a twist of inward shame. _This was a mistake._

Maybe it would be better to get what he could out of her when he finished this job, and then just shoot her painlessly. Clean up, and move along.

It could be better.

A shrill beeping sound yanked him out of his thoughts.

"Okay, we have found something," Todo 360 announced.

While Bane lowered the ship down into the planet's atmosphere, he ordered Todo to fetch the black bag behind the cockpit seat. It was from another bounty hunter, Aurra Sing, a smuggled item only she had known how to find. It was, of course, a DC-15x sniper rifle. Bane had little experience with that type of weapon, but it would be required for a job such as this. Half of him was eager to try it out. The other half still held fierce loyalty to his double blasters. The only thing that would make those two more tightly held in his grip is if he gave them goddamn nicknames. On the other hand, trying his hand at a new trigger almost guaranteed a rejuvenating experience at the very least.

The surface of Ryloth appeared through the clouds. Bane had been to Ryloth a few times before, but only for a quick stop for fuel or supplies. Traveling through and eventually beneath the clouds, he could see miles and miles of lush rainforest, the ground swelling with a lively carpet of plants. The dark evergreen hills, the white-hot suntanned rocks, and muddy water lakes, and flat plateaus, all awoke from a deep sleep as the scarlet suns rose up over the peaks and spilled out morning rays. It was a melting pot of deformed, crippled rainbows. Bane started the scanners running again to find a safe place to land.

Solarin's ship was close by. _Da__ngerously _close by. Good. He liked dangerous. He loved dangerous. He loved everything about dangerous.

The scanners jammed up, _again_.

"Really, you should purchase upgrades more often than you currently are, Bane, because I am not detecting any direct interference with the scanners."

Bane almost whacked the dashboard in frustration. But he restrained himself. Losing his cool would get him nowhere. Letting a droid know you were seriously pissed off didn't get them to work any faster, after all. After a few more moments had passed, the scanners finally picked up a spot right in the outskirts of a small rainforest near a clearing, and since it wasn't under any security radar, it seemed safe enough.

Cad Bane lowered _Xanadu Blood _down into an opening in the floor of trees. Nearby was an open area, burning and white under the sun, that resembled more like a desert, and it drew a line across the Ryloth forest. Once the ship had landed, he hoisted the black bag over his shoulder and unbuckled himself from the seat. The sound of the deactivating hyperdrive made the cockpit shudder. He put on his hat and, to be safe, stuck the pack of cigarettes in one of his coat pockets.

"How shall I come into the plan this time?" Todo 360 piped up, sounding as if he wanted to tag along as a sidekick, or something of the like.

"You get to stay here, and in the event someone finds the ship, you erase the computers and self-destruct."

It felt good to be standing again, able to kick at a pebble or clump of dirt. Even the daylight felt warm and inviting, but he could only bask in its glory as long as this droid kept talking.

"_What_? Did you say self-destruct?" The droid fidgeted agitatedly. "You don't mean like the last time you did that to me, do you?"

Bane climbed out of the cockpit and turned around to face the droid, who was sticking his head up from behind the dashboard.

"Course I do. You wouldn't want any strangers getting access to your memory, would'ja?"

"I wish you would put more thoughts into your back-up plans, because it seems I'm the one who suffers most from them. How would_ you_ like it if I—?"

"_Todo_…" he growled.

_ Fucking headache. I don't have time for this._

"Well, I admit the enemy's access to my memory _would_ be the worse of the two negative outcomes."

"That's more like it. Now activate the ship's cloaking device and shut off the radar. I'll be able to contact you with the comlink, but I don't want you making any calls. We need to keep things quiet around here," Bane said.

"I think it would be a good idea to bring some extra pills with you, that is, if the headache hasn't gone away yet."

"Look, I'm fine. I'd worry more about yourself if I were you."

"As if I needed to be reminded of that," the droid muttered half to himself.

The late-morning bog was heavier than he thought it would be. The ceiling of green branches above sheltered light streaming from a clear sky. It would only be a matter of minutes before he forgot the chilliness of outer space. Bane readjusted the heavy weight on his back as the pain in his head made a jump to the front. He pulled up his wrist gauntlet to catch the signal from Solarin's ship again. As he soon discovered, the signal was coming from four to five miles down the desert-like clearing. Which meant, either he had to cross the area on foot, or find a longer way around through the forest. The latter would delay him by hours.

In that case...a long walk awaited him.

Bane wasn't one to stall, and he turned his back on Todo 360 and _Xanadu Blood_.

* * *

><p><em>Revision Note:<em>

_ Cleaned up some of the similes/metaphors, and the "chase" scene in the small town hopefully has a bit more logic to it. I still feel a bit shaky on the plot and pace of this chapter as a whole but since it's mostly a filler, I can let that slip by. If you haven't read the next chapter yet I suggest putting on your big boy/girl pants._


	7. God Help the Outcasts

_"Space Bound"_

_Chapter Seven: God Help the Outcasts_

* * *

><p><em>"I know I'm just an outcast<br>I shouldn't speak to you  
>Still I see your face and wonder<br>Were you once an outcast too  
>God help the outcasts<br>Hungry from birth  
>Show them the mercy they don't find on earth<br>God help my people  
>We look to You still<br>God help the outcasts or nobody will"_

_-Disney's _The Hunchback of Notre Dame, _"God Help the Outcasts"_

* * *

><p>The clearing scorched under the high noon sun. Like the white, dry, crackled sin of a corpse, it burned and withered, gulping any form of liquid below the surface and reflecting the harsh rays across its desolated back. It did not take long for <em>Xanadu Blood<em>,the accompanying techno-service droid, and the surrounding forest to disappear in a distant the time thirty minutes had passed in his trek, Bane was already damp with perspiration. Although he was used to harsh climates similar to this, the side-effects such as intense thirst and a feverish feeling were in their infantile stages. The bruise on the back of his head from his skirmish in the shipping yard, which had previously seemed as if it healed quickly, began to feel sore again.

At first, he assumed it was only because of the heat. But the soreness worsened to a pounding, and then a rattling, until it felt as if every step he took detonated a string of explosions in his head. Grinding his teeth together helped distract him for roughly a minute before it only worsened the pain. Eventually he decided to do his best to ignore it altogether. After all, it should not take him too long to track down Solarin.

It couldn't be dehydration. He'd been through that before and it was nothing like this. Not even close. This was _burning_. This was from…

Bane caught himself from stumbling. He stood up straight again and fixed his hat.

_ Damn_. Why did his head hurt this much? He felt something warm and wet drip onto his neck. He reached behind and, as gently as he dared, dabbed the spot where the bruise was. His fingers slipped on blood. His blood.

Maybe that blow from the smugglers had been worse than he thought.

But all he could do now was keep going and hope for the best. It was too late to turn back, too late to retaliate and find some other way to the target. Bane shifted the weight of the bag to his other shoulder and walked past the empty crate he had nearly tripped—

_What empty crate?_

Why would an empty crate be out _here_?

All of what Bane could see ahead of him was a thick, milky mirage. The pale horizon trembled in the heat, white under the blazing sun. He rechecked his equipment to be certain they hadn't jammed under the temperatures, an unlikely but very well possible scenario.

That was when a building emerged from the mirage.

At first, it appeared to only be a faint, black block in the distance. His first thought wasit could possibly be a hideout or a trap of some sort.

But the closer he got to the building with each painful step, the more he realized this premonition could not be true. In fact, it could not be farther from the truth.

_No, _he silently corrected himself. _Definitely deserted_. Other similar crates lay scattered around it either half-empty or containing stale, rotting contents. He did not bother to look down and see what the contents were. Smelling them was enough. The building was square, metal, a rusty black. Like someone had dropped a disposal bin out in the middle of this nowhere. Along its sides strips of paper were glued by the edges, their torn ends flapping in the occasional gust of dusty wind. No apparent movement was visible inside. His scanner picked up no hidden mines or life forms as he drew nearer.

Bane was about to let himself walk right past it. He almost did. He was that close.

But he didn't.

Because he sensed it hanging over that dark little place. A putrid odor he was far accustomed to. He could remember the first time he came across that smell, in which was the defining moment when he knew that the life he was about to start living would be the life he always knew, the moment he matured from boyhood to manhood because he did not look away. Like it had not so many days ago in the early hours of the morning in the Happyface neighborhood, the memory appeared and _pounced_.

It was the smell of death.

There was _something_ in there.

Like any mercenary must do, he had to ignore it. He couldn't let the memories come back again, Force forbid they start pushing him to do something he would never do. Curiosity could never, never get the better, not now and not here. He had to just keep walking. Just, ignore it.

But...what was it?

He thought a devastating thought.

_One look won't kill._

As he turned to his left and took the first step closer to the open doorway, the memory, like a hot blade, sharpened against the steel.

_She was __screaming. She was cradling her left arm as blood flowed from a gash across her stomach. The side of her head was cut open and she screamed his name, then, "Don't look. Look away. Don't look!"..._

The inside reeked of bloodstained rust and metallic waste, like a garbage bin mixed with a butcher's shop. That, and the scorching heat, did not merge well.

_Her blood was splattered on the walls, on the floor, on his face—no, that was his own blood—his father's belt crashing down. There was screaming, crying. Why won't he stop. Stop it, I'll be your little man and make you proud if you let me, please stop, you're hurting her. Stupid kid. She's dead. Can't you see that?…_

Bane stepped through the open doorway and almost choked.

_What in the hell._

Dried puddles of blood splattered the floor. More of the same crates were mindlessly stacked up or lying around here and there, full of decaying garbage and excrement. Hanging from a long rusty chain was a half eaten chunk of raw, larva-infested meat. Then, slowly, a head and half an arm and two legs appeared. The chunk of meat had half a face, holes were eyes had once been, and a hand with no fingers. Behind the caved-in skull, a pair of skinny lekku hung like a pair of limp nooses.

It was a Twi'lek.

Over the Twi'lek's shoulders and just below the waist was a black bikini just like Blythe's long since paled. Her neck bore a spiked choker, which was hooked onto the chain she hung from.

It was a dead Twi'lek prostitute, rendered useless, the body no more than waste.

_Get out of here fast._

Bane turned away only to see another. It was a Zabrak girl, legs missing and half her face chewed away by rodents. Her naked breasts hung like limp, raisin-like sacks, her intestines dangling out from where her waist was cut off, where black flies danced over the feast.

A third, more skeleton than meat, lay flat on the floor among the crates, mouth hung open and silently giggling even in death. Another lay beside a pile of bones, a blackened, shriveled-up figure no more than four feet tall. And a handful more, also hanging by thick rusty chains, were castrated, naked, male creatures. Their species, whatever it had been, was no longer even able to identify.

The smell of death was overwhelming.

_ Get _out_._

At the back of the building, stacked up like cargo, were several…dozens…countless. A pile descended farther underground, deeper than the building could have appeared to be from the outside. A nimble staircase walked alongside it. Then in one of the crates, two Twi'lek infants no older than two or three, bearing on their wrists and ankles the marks of purchased slave dancers, were stuffed together inside. Their faces were gone, their bodies pale-white and naked. Dead. Dead before they were old enough to be put to work. Struck by disease or premature use, or whatever was worse.

So that's what this place was. It was a dump.

He remembered when she told him to look away. Only years later did he realize why she didn't want him to look. Because that's how fast day turns to night, summer turns to winter, boy turns to man.

_It must be impossible_.

It couldn't be that _all _of these had belonged to Orett Solarin, not even someone of his status and reputation. It wasn't possible. There were too many. Just too many.

Solarin couldn't have owned _all _of these?

Cad Bane was not ignorant to how blood flowed from a child's head, how a body rotted in the ice, how parents turned to animals when their kid was shot to death in front of them. It _happened_. It might not always be clean and fun but it was part of the job, an occasionally _necessity_. He had seen things that would give the average galactic citizen nightmares for weeks and depressant medication for a month, and he walked away mentally unscathed. More than once, too. It was part of the job. He was _paid_ to do it.

But what sort of profit could come from _this_.

There was no profit. This was not something that just _happened_.

All of this, for what? Somebody's laziness? Somebody's fetish? Somebody's sense of humor?

At that instant, a trickle of blood from his head wound began to run down the inside of his coat and down his back. The silence was returning, the heat choking. Empty faces staring back. Then Bane turned away and left with a speed he would not have expected out of himself. He did not stop walking, he could _not _stop, until he was at least thirty feet away from the building. Air free of that horrid stench had never tasted so sweet.

Out of the half-eaten faces and skeleton figures still inside, and out of that ghostly, nauseating smell of death, a strange feeling rose up. A feeling of his first kill, his first betrayal, his deepest desire to rip out throats. How well he had stuffed it down so far, and so long, and how fast it had returned. It was not just anger. It was a rage. Because who was to say that the Lethan, that fire-skinned creature waiting for him lightyears away, would not have met her fate in that very place. Who was to say how close she might have come to becoming one of those corpses. To imagine such a thing did not stop Bane's heart or turn his gut cold, but it sent a tingling through his blood. That Solarin had been that close to taking something from Bane that now belonged to him; he had been that close to robbing Bane of a possession he liked and did not intend to throw away while it still maintained some level of value. And that was enough.

Solarin would join every one of them. His laziness, his fetish, his sense of humor was going to be the one to appear and _pounce_.

To kill, not _just _for payment, but some sort of vindication for the near-violation of his little red girl. Atonement. Retribution. Maybe even a bit of revenge.

That was something Cad Bane had not done in a long, long time, not since younger more immature days. Then again, everyone should get the chance, from time to time, to feel young again.

* * *

><p>Once Bane had, at long last, crossed the dry, dead clearing, the bleeding in his head wound seemed to stop. He had walked by other black buildings. He did not count them, or rather, his stomach might not have been able to take it if he counted. The bounty hunter second instinct in him was enough to drive him forward, convincing him that he had seen enough, which he had.<p>

At the end, the clearing faded into grassy, forest terrain, paving the way for Ryloth's more natural habitat. Less than a quarter of a mile ahead, Solarin's base was visible, which would sooner pass off as a mansion than a house for pimps. Most of the details were hard to see from a distance but multiple decorations and additions adorned the front of the base. It was built nearby a plateau that dropped off at a cliff's edge, and on its opposite side was a thick forest. Bane lit a cigarette, suddenly sensing the need for a quick nicotine jump to chase away something he did not want. Then he drew out a rangefinder from his belt to survey the headquarters.

No obvious security was in sight. No fences. Open balconies. Open windows. It could only mean Orett Solarin must be a partying man, frequent to host dozens of guests to his living place, and popular among most of the prominent underground social clubs; otherwise, he would have no reason to pretty up the place. Bane could only imagine the sort of guests Solarin would invite. What their idea of a 'good time' would be.

Bane, once again, shifted the weight of the bag to his other shoulder. He took the first few steps up the plateau to the cliff, as he began a mental review of what he knew of sniping tactics. There wasn't so much facts to memorize as there were lessons to be learned from the experience of using the weapon itself, which was something he moderately lacked. Forty hours of studying were equal to approximately forty seconds in the real thing. Thus, the bounty hunter must be prepared for any type of weapon or situation, preferably both. For Bane, _prepared_ was a bit too strong a word in this case.

But, thankfully, the bounty hunter alsoknows how to improvise.

By the time Bane reached the top of the plateau, a plan had formed in his mental map. He stopped at a spot near the edge of the cliff, which was concealed behind a cluster of boulders and a few large trees. It was that close to perfect.

He knelt down on the rich, dark soil. He opened the bag and unpacked the contents, all the while working furiously on his cigarette to relieve the pain in his head. Once the DC-15x was assembled, he unlocked the safety and balanced the rifle in place between two boulders. Looking out to the base, Bane could see all ten floors. He could easily shoot through any windows on the top five, but to reach the others, he'd have to move to another spot. Then he pulled out the comlink on his wrist gauntlet. Looking down into the scope, he rested his shoulder against the back of the rifle. As he waited patiently, he slowly examined each window on the first floor within his range in the hopes of finding the branch of a security bay, which which he would be most likely to spot Solarin. But his finger stayed off the trigger for now.

Bane heard a crackling sound from the comlink, and a smooth, cool, _H__uman _voice.

_"This is Orett Solarin. Who is this?" _the voice asked.

Bane couldn't spot him anywhere through the windows. Solarin must be on an entirely different floor, or another division of the base entirely. It would be near impossible to kill him from this position. That meant Bane had only two options left; either he found a way into the base himself, or he drove the target out.

The first would be nothing new for his resume. As for the second—it was too tempting.

He waited only one more second or two before he took the cigarette out of his mouth to speak into the comlink.

"This is Cad Bane," he said.

Silence.

_"Bane," _said Solarin, sounding surprised, which was not a surprise to Bane at all. _"I wasn't expecting this_ _call. What do you want?"_

_Here we go, _Cad Bane thought.

"Don't you think that's a little obvious? I want to kill you."

More silence. Less that time, but not by much.

_"Well, let's talk. _Why_ do you want to kill me?" _ His tone was like that of a mother asking her toddler why he was going to run away from home.

"You've been sending the Corrino brothers after me, of course."

As the headmaster had always said, it's better to tell a half-truth rather than a complete lie.

_"That's not my doing. You murdered three Corrino's, you know that. At least, I think you know that. I guess they haven't killed you yet, right?"_

"I was hired to kill them."

_"Really? By who?"_

"Somebody else who wants them dead," said Bane. "I finished the job and tried to get out of it fast, but they were too quick for me. I'm being followed. I'd like you to put an end to this."

_"Excuse me, but wouldn't that your problem over mine? Besides, I told you I'm not involved."_

"And neither are the Jedi, right?" asked Cad Bane.

_"What put that idea in your head?" _Solarin scoffed.

The next move would one of the biggest gambles he had dared to take on a hiring. Well, here goes.

"Solarin, I have ten hired assassins outside your base right now. Each is armed with a sniper rifle and grenades. If I give the word, you'll be shot down before you know what hits you."

_"That's a good one, Bane. Why don't I call my security and set off all the alarms? They should send them scattering, right?" _Solarin didn't sound that convinced. Again, not surprising. Come to think of it, Solarin was following with Cad Bane's plan as if he were reading lines from a script.

"Oh, I wouldn't do that if I were you. As soon as you do, you'll be shot."

_"Oh, I see. So where are you in all of this?"_

"Let's just leave it at that it would be pointless to find me."

_"Backed out on the job, then, right? I bet you're sitting up in some shithole ship to save your own skin. How many did you say are surrounding me?"_

"Ten. And the way I figure it, if you're out of the picture, the Corrino's will only want to kill me for free. Can you imagine that happening? No, I can't either."

_"That is, _if _I were paying them at all, which I already told you I'm not."_

"All right, Solarin," said Bane. "I'll let you keep at that game. But now I want to know why they're after me, right this minute."

_"Um, Bane…you told me you were hired to kill three of them. Why wouldn't they be after you? I'm confused."_

"Now, Solarin, there's the part where _I'm _confused. First of all, give me a list of all Corrino brothers killed in the past two months."

Solarin was dead silent on the other line.

"Gasta. Kel. And Sexen," Bane finished. "If you happened to do your homework on the Holonet like a sensible character might, you'd find that in the past four months those three had joined a fourth brother in confiscating their family's income from the Hutt systems and spending it on their own new empire. To add an extra twist, the family knew about the whole scam and the mark it was leaving. Everybody wanted them to die. Who is going to put his life on the line for vengeance? So tell me, Solarin, if they weren't after me for revenge, what else would it be for?"

The gamble in this play, of course, was that the truth could be covertly hidden from Solarin's eye. That there was a reputation to uphold, an illusion to maintain, and a game to play.

There was a long, thought-filled pause, when Solarin said,

_"Don't tell me the Corrino family hired you."_

"If they hired me, why do they want to kill me? My job's not over yet. There's a fourth brother, the oldest, who is hiding out somewhere on Dantooine last I heard."

_Hopefully Solarin won't do his 'homework' on that one._

_"All right, but you missed the most important part."_

"And what's that?"

_"Why Orett Solarin would want you dead, Bane."_

"How much was the girl worth to you?" Bane asked.

Again, Solarin was silent. Then he laughed loudly.

_"Which one?"_

"The Lethan. The one I bought off from you. Do you recall that?"

_"You stole her," _the human said. The voice was not enraged at all, but instead oddly calm and passive. _"I paid over fifty-thousand credits for her seven years ago, and she's tripled her worth at least."_

That did not sound good. That did not sound good at all.

"Then why did you hand her over like that?"

_"Because I knew I'd get her back." _He paused. _"Bane, you really think you were the first to try and rip me off one of my goods? You have no idea how many of those poor virgin Jedi Padawan's or smugglers' kids or green space-pilots have spent their cash for the night and think they can smuggle one or two out the next morning. No idea that I, too, know what goes through a man's head in those stages of the game. And I get them back every time. _Every _time. They think they make a good bargain of the day, and I catch them red-handed days or weeks later. Think they outsmarted me, and they back themselves into a trap. __I make my profit. All they do is ruin her up some more, and I have to kill some ugly thing they stuck up her ass. I'm not the one who let her get sick; it was little shits like you. I make her worth."_

The irony of his last statement was priceless.

"So, this is your idea of making an extra thirty-thousand credits on the side," Bane said after a short pause.

_"It's what you call survival of the fittest. At least my ways don't really hurt anybody important. I make an honest living. I give tired people some well-earned pleasure, help low-income families pay off their debts. The drill."_

"You really assumed I would let you steal something off me?"

_"Not me. I have friends. Friends with big guns. __Speaking of which, do you know who just gave me a call the other day? It was your old friend Ael, the Duros call girl. She says she's letting anyone have it on the, um, the Lethan."_

Bane felt an ache in his stomach at that. He wanted to snap the rifle in two. Of course Ael would do whatever she could for a little money on the side. Maybe if he had been more thorough in deciding who would—no, suppose Solarin was just making this up to throw him off course.

_ "She says it belongs to you, but it's my property. You do know you're ruining it. Why are you standing in the way of industry and business?"_

Industry. Business.

That was what Twi'lek infants were raped and starved to death in the name of.

"Let me get this straight. You sold her to me and hired the Corrino brothers to get her back. You must have some real confidence in their work."

_"Sounds to me like it's working. Bounty hunters never ask their enemy to call off the chase. Bounty hunters love the chase. They love going to sleep with a blaster at their side and waking up to a ceiling being sprayed with lasers. Laying low, getting too comfortable, that's where they're weak. That's how I make business best—on a bounty hunter who thinks he needs the breather that will be the death of him. Just like you, Bane."_

Bane paused. Was Solarin right?

Did he slip up? Did he let his guard down by thinking he could chase a boyish game of who was in control? Had that one night with the Lethan been his weak point?

Fuck it; that didn't matter. First, he had a job to finish.

"I can order ten assassins to shoot you down at any given second. I think, in the present circumstances, you should watch what you say about me."

_"Really. I'm surrounded. Keep pushing that lie, Bane."_

"I wouldn't be risking a hole through the neck like that if I were you." As he said it, Bane took down the sniper rifle, quickly moved to his left several meters, and repositioned the rifle between a boulder and a tree. Once he zoomed in through the scope, he could easily see the entrance to the base. Now it was time to play the most important part of this game.

_"Lie to me again. If you think you can steal from me so easily, I bet you think you can lie to me, too."_

"There's one thing you forgot about the bounty hunter."

_"Yes?" _Solarin's voice shook a little, like a spinning top beginning to slow down.

"Bounty hunters know there's no point in telling lies to a dead man," said Bane.

There was another long pause, and Bane could detect in the silence a growing dread and a rising dismay, as the lie began to sink into the Human's subconsciousness, convincing him of a danger outside that was not there. Almost exactly as Bane had planned.

_"My question is…" _said Solarin, _"if you're so intent on killing me, why give me a fair warning?"_

"Because you can call off the deal with the Corrino's."

_"Wouldn't I call it off if I dropped dead?"_

"I don't think it's that simple. If I tell my assassins to shoot you down right now, some replacement of yours will keep trying to get your stolen goods back, some right-hand man waiting for you to drop so he can have all this for himself."

_"Bane," _Solarin hissed hotly, _"you know all this just isn't about the Lethan girl. It's about every one of my customers watching and waiting to see if a bounty hunter can take on the Corrino family and their allies."_

"Cool your laser cannons. I might even order a clean, quick, and somewhat painless kill for you if you don't insult me on your last breath."

_"Wait. Wait. Why don't we work out a truce, then? Maybe I can do some convincing on the Corrino side, and you can spare your cheap assassins the trouble."_

Bane steadied the rifle, smiling to himself. It had worked. It had _worked_. Just a bit more further and he'd have this.

"All right. What do you have in mind?" he asked, marinating his tone in naive curiosity.

_"If you send the girl in, the Corrino's are out."_

"Hold your thought right there. You said yourself everyone's watching to see if my boot can fit up a Corrino's ass. We can't let this end on a bloodless note, then. Crowd wouldn't appreciate 'dat too much."

_"So no matter what deal I strike up with you, you want to shoot somebody."_

"At least somebody has to die in this, you know."

_"I take it you're not planning on giving me the girl back, then."_

"Wait a minute, there. I'm considering that."

_"All right. How do you want to bring her in?" _asked Solarin.

"She could be back here within two weeks."

_"How do I know you'll hold to your word?"_

"Because I'm going to watch you give the Corrino's a call."

_"You want to see me call this off?" _he echoed. _"Whatever happened to you being all trigger-happy?"_

"I'll take care of that with the Corrino's as soon as you're out. If you call it off, I'll have no reason to kill you."

The longest pause yet. Then,

_"Where do you want me?"_

"At the main entrance."

_"What about your Bantha-fodder assassins?"_

"If you go out the main entrance, and only the main entrance, I'll tell them to stand down as you make the call."

_"All right. I'm walking."_

"Easy, now. Relax. Don't make a wrong move."

He zoomed in closer on the scope.

_"How can I trust you that you won't order them to fire on me?"_

The next moment, when he handed over that promise to Orett Solarin, felt incredibly satisfying, as Bane thought of all the times this Human made promises of a safe embrace, a warm bed, and a hot meal to one of his prostitutes—and he kept none of them. Left them to die rotting and naked in a dump for animal waste and garbage.

Bane felt a strange sense of enjoyment as he knew this Human was about to die by his own game.

"Just remember to dial up the Corrino's as soon as you step outside, and you'll be safe and sound," he said quietly.

And as the door to the main entrance activated open, and Solarin began babbling the Lethan back and he still didn't believe there could really be ten assassins out there, Bane held his breath and shifted his crimson red eye closer to the scope. He twisted one long bony finger around the trigger.

His shoulders ached from the tension in his muscles. The taste of the cigarette lingered in his mouth as it caught against five simple words that were long, deep, hard, and gritty in his throat.

_This is for you, Blythe._

The human appeared out in the open. Cad Bane pulled the trigger.

* * *

><p><em>Revision Note:<em>

_I do not know what it is with this chapter...but I love it in this wrong, explainable way. Cleaned up the beginning quite a bit in regards to Cad Bane's train-of-thought and how he mentally connects the dots and decides to let some emotions come into play. I thought about adding a whole other dynamic to the sniping scene but decided it keep it more simple so the real message doesn't get hidden._


	8. Cad's Bane

_"Space Bound"_

_Chapter Eight: Cad's Bane_

* * *

><p><em>"Like every game that needs a player<br>Every sinner needs a savior  
>I'm the villain you're willing to save<br>Now you know why  
>I'm lost without you<br>And there's nothing I can do"_

_-Nickelback, "Holding on to Heaven"_

* * *

><p>Ten seconds later, all hell broke loose in the base.<p>

Alarms screeched into the late-morning mist. Shouts could be heard—shouts of confusion, bewilderment, panic.

Fifteen seconds later, emergency lock down commenced. Half awake guards rushed to the front entrance to discover a man lying face up, smiling contentedly and for eternity, a hole through his forehead.

Sixteen seconds later, Cad Bane was running.

The pack felt like it had gained at least another twenty pounds. He pushed through the strain and continued on, as the back of his head began pounding again. The sudden rush of pain was so overwhelming that he almost stumbled over several rocks in the ground. It hadn't hurt thismuch before.

He contacted Todo through his comlink, who was still waiting at _Xanadu Blood_.

"Bring the ship about," he ordered, and afterward, thought to himself,

_Hurry, damn droid_.

The security around the base was on high alert by then, and as he had predicted it would be for several hours at the most. Guards were running everywhere and shouting at each other over the alarms. He could smell the panic and the horror of something gone wrong and, shit, it felt good. With Solarin gone, Bane's employers would pay him what he was due, and being back on the job would be just what he needed and—_dammit_, it felt good.

It was looking to be a productive day. Getting his hands on that traitor Ael wouldn't feel so bad, either.

By the time Todo had landed _Xanadu Blood _at the bottom of the plateau just outside the clearing, the pain in Bane's head was coming back to that blinding light. Every object in his path and his surroundings seemed to radiate a ray that burned into his eyes so deep it made him nauseous. He hurled the bag over his head and jumped into the cockpit, and the little droid ducked out of the way.

_If this headache can hold off a while longer, I'll be fine_.

"Todo, Get us off this fucking dump," he said as he buckled himself in.

"I'm working on it, Mr. Bane. These things don't happen in nanoseconds, you know."

He braced himself as he felt _Xanadu Blood _lift into the air and aim for the Ryloth skies. His hand slid over and activated the shades on the cockpit windows. It was too bright.

"And in case your memory has been compromised, we are in the _Ryloth_ system, not, as you were so inclined to call, a f—king dump," Todo said dryly. Of course, his programming bleeped out the vulgarity. It was almost enough to make Bane chuckle, but the headache and blinding lights were too much of a distraction much less he was not in search of some heartfelt humor.

"Think what you want to think, but don't talk me into it."

It was a fucking _slaughterhouse_.

Someday, somebody should invent something that blows up entire planets like that one.

"Might I ask if the mission was a success, then?" Todo piped up.

Bane began making the preparations for hyperspace, a small grimace on his face. Yes, it felt good, but he wanted it to end. He wanted to be done and move on so he could do something about this head injury and hopefully forget a thing or two he knew he never would forget.

"Like I could have seen the whites of his eyes," he said.

"In that case, I am glad it was a success. You never seem to be in a good mood when it's a complete failure, and then I get blamed for everything." The droid sounded more bored than glad.

"I didn't ask for a commentary on your sore predicament."

"Facts are facts. So, what is the next part of the plan?"

At first, Bane didn't reply, letting the headache fully subside until he spoke up again.

"Things will get lot better."

That's what he had told her. Whether he really meant it or not.

* * *

><p>Night had fallen over Coruscant. If one paused in the neon whirlwind, he might be able to hear the howls and screams underneath the whirring traffic, harmonious applause, and rumbling of the underground factories. If one stopped to open an ear and listen, he might pick up the silence of lives ended too soon because of money or because of a fatal accident, and the sound of lives rushing to a premature death they craved more than the next breath. Across the horizon was painted a rippling array of the colors of fire, like the sun had been stabbed in the heart and bled over the tapestry draped over the planet. Darkness was on the rise.<p>

One standard week had passed since the HoloNet announced the official news report that Orett Solarin, one of the prominent heads in the smuggling black market industry, had unfortunately passed away in his home on the Ryloth system.

Cad Bane knew no one was talking about the Orett Solarin who bought young, pretty projects long before it was legal to put them up for sale, or his organization that not only kept a finger in the slot of every dark, unruly system, but up every nobleman's sleeve when aging wives wouldn't satisfy. No one mentioned that this black market had cast a shadow over everyone from the white-collars with solid reputations, down to a fellow on some wasted Tattooine village in dire need of a fix, and his was a name recognizable to not just the dregs, but the very men who promoted justice and humanity in the courts and were paid to do it. No one mentioned that Orett Solarin died of a shot to the head as he was stepping out onto his front porch to call someone's bluff, because he had hated the thought of passing up the chance to see there had been no ten assassins at all, and consequently making someone else out to be the fool. No one had brought up the fact that two protocol droids were the _only_ ones present at the funeral four days later. No one was talking about it because they might be next. It was clear to anyone with a foot in the door and connections to the uglier scope of headline news reports that the HoloNet had this bad habit of throwing lies and gossip out like old meatless bones after the raw truth had been chewed off. Only after the tasteless gristle, ash, and mold that left a sour taste in the mouth had been discarded, then the public could enjoy a meal they were told was flawless. No one was talking about it because their hands had turned black in the same tarry substance they were pointing at with accusing fingers. Their bed sheets carried sweat from the same goods under Solarin's maintenance and distribution; their skin smelled of a Twi'lek slave girl's saliva.

How dare they mention what really happened. Forbid that they reveal the gristle, ash, and mold covering the name of Solarin as it did their own names. How dare they not point and judge at an invisible mirror.

Solarin's unnamed organization was now in the hands of a Human named Garr Broxin, a long-time associate of Solarin's. The two might as well have been identical twins. However, unlike Solarin, what Broxin was most well-known for having an unshakable addiction to Corellian whiskey. At one time, Broxin in his lowest state had openly demonstrated this infatuation outside Hawke Noth Cantina. This resulted in a story that became a hit in the tabloids, and when Broxin was hired to be Solarin's main steward and right-hand-man, forced Solarin to try and erase the tale completely from the public's eye, an impossible task of course. And yet, here stood the same man with a multimillion-credit business now in his sole posession. The HoloNet would be all over his inevitable rags-to-riches story of how he had overcome his past and found his one true love to carry him through, just as it did with any other celebrity with talent or beauty. They were going to love him for it. They were going to love Garr Broxin for the parties he hosted and the stories he told.

At night is when they say the city is most beautiful. They say of all the systems teeming with urban life, Coruscant was by far the most elegant, the most supreme, and the most remarkable of all. Somebody once described Coruscant after dark as glistening with all the colors of every jewel and diamond in existence, a constellation one could touch and a song one could taste, until the heart is convinced that there are still good things and good people out there in the universe.

This somebody had only seen places like the Jedi Temple or the Senate building. This somebody only sees the images displayed on the HoloNet. They had never seen what worlds lay in the underbelly of the city below the politics and first-class activities, an underworld where the light never reached.

And no one was watching the Duros bounty hunter in the worn wide-brimmed hat as he landed _Xanadu Blood _into the rent shop, as cigarette smoke mingled with the cold late night mist and fog. No one watched him catch the slightest glimpse of his reflection in a clear puddle of liquid on the asphalt ground in which he saw dried blood, none but his own, had stained the back of his leather coat. No one was watching him calmly draw out his pistol and polish the barrel with one fingertip, as if it were as harmless an object as a lollipop, and ascend the rickety flight of stairs in the apartment building with every intention to pull the trigger as many times as he could. As he approached the door to the apartment, his steps sounded in a solid, firm echo against the concrete walls laden with posters and graffiti. A Duros woman, immediately picking up and recognizing the sound, rushed to the door and clicked the lock. Five small seconds passed in breathless silence before she realized the lock was futile, and the door burst open. The corner of the door smacked the woman's face, splitting her bottom lip.

From a dark, small room, a pair of eyes shot open at the sound of his voice—a voice that was always in control, never governed by emotion. That was what had been a truth, that unlike the short-tempered, aggressive creatures, he knew what control was and _stuck _to it. Eyes squeezed shut the next instant. Then she wished with all her heart it would be the last time she heard a fist strike a woman's head.

* * *

><p>Ael backed away from the approaching silhouette, wiping blood from the side of her mouth.<p>

"You told Solarin everything!" Bane shouted at her.

And right then, she realized his true intentions for drawing a gun.

"Listen, I didn't do anything. You must be mixed up. You must have heard something from a rotten source," the Duros woman croaked.

"You went and told him, and don't you dare think you can lie to me!"

She tried to crack a smile, but it was too late for joking around.

"All right. So I have my connections and I spilled a little, but hey, I made sure to keep his ass in the seat, all right? It's not like I was actually planning to _send_ her back. I would never do that, Bane. Bane."

"What did you do to her?"

The question was so blunt it made the woman stop for a second. Her shoulder muscles relaxed from preparation of the next strike.

"What's that mean..._what_ did I do to her? Did I do anything illegal? Not at all. Anything's legal with her. Everything's legal with her. She's a whore."

"How did you know that?"

"Fuck it, Bane..." the woman seductively pressed her index finger on the brim of his hat and slowly began tracing it across, leaving behind a pale line, "...it looks the part. It talks the part. It eats the part. Unlike myself she's not her own client. You think it's anything new to me, this little breed? What else could I do? You said you'd be gone for a while, so I decided to make some extra cash. Been letting the neighbors next door have at her at least an hour a day. Hell, I didn't mind having some fun with her too if she's got so much experience and skill. I made sure she was protected. Don't worry...nothing too hard she didn't know already how to take. I got some of it taped and been making money where it sells on the HoloNet. Relax. It's her job, anyway."

The Duros woman looked into his eyes. She didn't see the casual pleasure or playful hunger she had been in the bleakest hopes of finding. She only saw anger that boiled red. Her fingers played at the brim of his hat in a crescendo rhythm.

"Bane, I was planning on giving you half the pay I—"

She cried out in pain as she was thrown against the floor. Her side was driven into the corner of the table, which toppled over as well, and she felt a bruise begin to form.

"Don't touch me again, you stinking bitch," he hissed.

"Would you stop pushing me. Look at all the money I made—"

"You think you can work behind my back and get away with it?" He cocked the blaster and held it up until it was aimed for her forehead.

With a gasp, she backed away.

"Now get out of my place before I skin you."

"Wait a minute, Bane. Where's the dough you promised me? Where's my money?"

"You made your damn money off of her already!"

"What are you going to do, shoot me?"

He just grabbed her by the arm and tossed her backwards a second time. She tumbled through the open doorway with a cry.

"You think I won't?"

Even then, Ael was able to calm herself down long enough to say,

"You don't want to do that. I put up the videos on the Net, and I'm the only one who can take them down. Try as you might but we both know I'm the better at hacking than you are." She cradled her arm where it had been badly bruised. "Don't shoot and I'll take them down."

He hesitated, rage burning in those red, red eyes.

"Three hours or I will kill you."

"Three hour—!" A third time, she was thrown down to the floor. Gritting her bloodied teeth in pain, the woman struggled to get back on her feet.

Towering above her was the silhouette, who almost took pleasure in watching a smaller, more fragile and broken body stand back up, calculating not whether to kill her or not but when would be the most proper time.

"I said _get out_."

* * *

><p>That was when the little red girl, Blythe, realized a horrible truth, a truth she had promised not to know from the instant she was transferred from Orett Solarin's ownership to that of the bounty hunter's. It had been there in the way he sometimes looked at her as if she were a child or, worse yet, an insect, the way he nibbled at her skin and devoured her reluctance to give in like a caffeine. After enough time under this possession, the fear of stepping on his toes remained, but she had almost convinced herself that <em>truth <em>was never there. But now, listening to the Duros woman cry in a blend of terror and agony, Blythe knew better.

No one but Blythe now saw that this bounty hunter was not what he had been increasingly convincing her he was. He was not the amoral, gun-slinging machine who judged another one's worth by their value in credits. Or rather, a second layer was buried underneath. Or he was not _just _the machine. Now, she did not hear the cold indifference she was so used to. Instead, she heard an anger forged from hellfire, as the woman pleaded for mercy for the very first time. There was something in there boiling over with rage—a burning, screaming rage. There was a tender bruise, a small moment from whence it came, and no matter how far down it was buried it was now rushing up at an uncontrollable rate. She could hear it clanging in his voice, echoing in his blows.

She could not deny it now. Something monstrous lurked behind the cold, calculating image everyone else in the galaxy familiarized him with. Something that was not indifferent, not amoral, and not a machine. But, it was a terrible, appalling thing. Otherwise, it would not have to be buried at all.

And then it was over.

Her eyes shot open again, too terrified to breathe.

The apartment had fallen silent. The Duros woman had fled. A whisper of a faint breeze blew back the drape near the window. Water trickled through the pipes in the ceiling. There was no sound but forhis hollow, raspy, almost reptilian breathing as he sucked in air through his thin, cracked lips. In such stillness she did not dare move. It occurred to her that he did not know where she was, and she tried saying his name, but the consonants didn't make it out of her throat so easily.

"'ane Cad."

She heard his duster rustle. His breathing slowed. Then he spoke.

"Blythe? Where are you?"

She fought back a shudder, praying to whatever or _whoever _would listen that he was done slaughtering for the night.

"Bedroom, kind of dark."

His footsteps. Blythe trembled as he stepped closer and closer to the bedroom. Whatever made her blood run cold in that moment, she did not know what it was, nor how to think of it. Inside of her, they stirred and churned until the darkness was unbearable in its weight and magnitude upon that little room. As the footsteps drew closer so her breaths quickened.

If the rage inflicted on the woman was turned on her, she wouldn't stand a chance against it. She knew that. For all she knew she had only minutes to live. The fear of watching her own blood spray the walls and streak his knuckles paralyzed her.

But if he had called her his 'little red girl' before, she wanted him to call her that again, and again. She had to know that she was not going to have to spend the night alone, by herself, in the cold. That even in return for a touch, someone would touch her. As long as she was held, did it really matter if it hurt? And did it matter if it was all just a game to him?

By the time he opened the door and light flooded into the pitch-black room, she could no longer hold in the timid, trembling sobs. As for whether they were tears of fear, or relief, or both, Blythe would never know. In front of her stood the tall silhouette of the bounty hunter.

"Cad, 'ane Cad. 'sit really been three weeks? Are you back? I been making you lot of cash, I make that friend 'yours happy. She say she's proud of me...I did what she told..." She lost her voice as the tears began to fall.

Inside her, something tight and coiled up suddenly snapped, and through her mind ran all the things she had been told these long years—_no man can be trusted, all they want in this world is their money and your body, and nobody cares if you go hungry today because you are worth nothing if you have nothing to give back …_and_ I'll give you a piece of candy if you make it through the night, Blythe_. _Apologize to me, Blythe, or you know I'm going to have to hurt you. I have to hear it from you—say you're sorry._

To think she had held the tears in for so long, hoping that the throbbing inside her would someday give up its struggle for escape and die out like coals in an empty fireplace. Hoping that someday there would be nothing left to cry for or to hut for. And now, without warning, they were all spilling out at once, twisting her body in shudders, forming an aching lump in her throat.

She had finally broken. All those strange and humiliating things the Duros woman made her do had finally been too much, too young, too fast.

Blythe would never understand what it had meant to her, the object men purchased to take out their wrath and fuel their self-esteem, when she heard the bounty hunter say to her, "I bought you from Orett Solarin". She would never understand what it meant to her that someone, somehow, had seen her as maybe a little more than a sex machine? That someone was going to hold even if it was a game? How could she understand that the things the Duros woman had done became suddenly unbearable in light of one little rescue, like a starving animal given a raw bone only to have it snatched away? Like the promise of a life free from that humiliation turning and slapping her in the face. How could she?

It was a feeling she had not felt for many, many years. That the same individual who could provide her warmth and comfort and a taste of solace could just as soon be the one to leave her body mutilated and lifeless on the floor.

* * *

><p>Bane stepped into the bedroom. The shades were closed completely. A gaunt, almost skeletal figure, lay crumpled up on the edge of the bed, shedding pale tears. She looked...more dead than alive. Hanging by her fingertips. Only faint rivers of life still running in her.<p>

Ael would _not _go unpunished, he secretly vowed.

But that was just it. Ael hadn't even been the first. Countless other bounty hunters and the like had turned on him on the job. Count Dooku had done it. Tukoga Noth had done it. Hell, _he'd _done it more than enough times as well.

Why should Ael be any different?

Was it because, this time, it was the Lethan girl who had to take the major blow of the betrayal?

"Tell me what they were doing to you," he said to her.

"Not much, Cad, please, don't hurt her…"

"_Blythe_. I am not going to ask you a second time."

Bane was almost startled when she made a choking sound. In the light through the doorway, he could see tears running down her cheeks. He wished he would have felt puzzled, even bewildered as to why. But knowing Ael and her tendencies, he was not puzzled in the least bit. Instead, he only felt angrier. More inclined to leave Blythe where she was and kill Ael long into the night. Instead, he stayed put.

"Cad, Cad, I'm sorry I let her. I'm sorry, please, I'm sorry. I _know_ you bought me from Orett. I _know_ I'm s'posed to follow just your rules, not other people's rules. I'm sorry, I'm_ sorry_, Cad. Please forgive me. Say you'll forgive me, huh?"

Whatever was bottled up inside of Blythe, she had to get it out, and fast. He didn't want to let himself develop mental images of what Ael must have done to bring Blythe to a place such as this.

A girl with Blythe's history and, called by some, her occupation, this should _not _have broken her. She should be _used _to this.

So, then, he would never understand it, either.

As she talked on and on, whimpering into the dark, Bane said nothing. No. He was not going to say a word for a while. He slipped—he had broken his code and attacked out of _emotion _over _requisite_. In business terms Ael had not deserved the punishment he gave her. In personal terms, he was far from finished.

It was best to do nothing until the emotions were gone, and he would know he would not break the code a second time.

"I'm _sorry_, Cad, please say you'll forgive me, huh? I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Please forgive me. I _know_. Won't do it again, huh? Never, ever, ever again. I won't listen to her and I'll do whatever you want me to do. Just...don't hit me. Please, don't hit me."

* * *

><p>When she was finished, he sat down next to her on the bed.<p>

"Are you done?"

She was still trembling, but she nodded, rubbing one sore eye that was done with the tears.

"Then get up," he told her.

Blythe felt she would get more sympathy from a rock. But she got up. She pawed at her face with her palms, wiping away the mess of tears. He watched her carefully, as if waiting for her to tell him something. The rage had passed. He didn't even appear as if he remembered it. Like it had possessed him. Blythe braced herself up on the bed next to him, her legs crossed in front of her. A thought occurred to her, and it was a terrifying one. Perhaps that rage hadn't been about possession. Maybe it was about awakening.

How much of that cold image he carried day and night, refusing to let emotion govern over logic and reason, was _only _an image?

"Yes, it _has _been three weeks," he said, and Blythe realized he was answering her question from before. He held his breath for a moment as he gently cupped her chin. His hand slowly slid down her neck, then reached around her back and pulled her closer, as if to confirm for himself that she was real and not a vapor from his imagination.

"I made a mistake," he said, talking more to himself than to her. "I thought Ael would hold up like the last few times. But it seems there is no one who can be trusted with you."

"I'm sorry," she said one more time.

"You don't have to be. It's a waste of time."

Blythe shut her eyes and buried her face in his shoulder. Her legs curled up against his. Unlike before, the darkness of the room suddenly seemed inviting. She quivered with a smile as he stroked his arm up and down her back. Bane shuddered. Three weeks had been an eternity, but eternity had passed. He had her back.

And why that sounded like such a sweet melody to him, he had no idea. But he didn't want one.

He felt her skin tingle at a touch that was closer than before, and he hushed her.

"Relax. I'm not in that kind of mood anymore. Just take it easy." Still, he could sense her hesitation. "Nothing special. Just show me how glad you are that I'm back."

There was no rush to finish by morning and no reason to make it happen all at once. As long as they were still breathing they had all the time in the world. She had had it rough and, more likely than not, was bruised in a few places. But even on a night like this he knew how to slow down and carry something fragile—after all, since one doesn't know what he'll be paid to handle, a bounty hunter needs hands that can be unforgiving one moment and delicate the next.

She began slowly, almost with precaution, as she slowly rolled off his duster and pulled up his shirt like she was making every second of it count. When her hands touched him and began caressing his abdomen in light, simple strokes, Bane grabbed her by her shoulder and kissed her collarbone. He didn't stop her. It felt good. _Understatement._ It was sending a calm but deep fire through his blood, and this fire shouldn't be any more different than fingering a wad of cold cash or pulling a trigger but it _was_. It was much more. _Something _more. This, right here, right now, was all he ever wanted or needed.

_Damn. There's that thought again._

The thought was gone soon after in place of Blythe's soft, scratchy voice. Her breath tickled the back of his neck as her fingers gently played on one of the larger scars on his chest.

"Bane Cad…I'm so tired. I'm sorry, I don't know—"

"I said, it doesn't matter. Let me show you how to relax."

There was a long pause, as they held still save for her stroking hands and his breathing that gradually slowed into relaxation. Once the long pause had passed, he pulled away from her until he could look her right in the eye. Her eyes were raw and sore, but the trembling had ceased.

"Are you going to tell me now?" he asked, slowly.

She sniffed, once.

"What she did?"

"Don't spare me. Blythe. What did they do."

She bit her lower lip. Then her eyes fluttered closed as she lowered her head into his shoulder.

Blythe remembered the last time she had lied to him.

It was better he know now than find out later from someone else. So she said it.

"Cad...I got pregnant."

* * *

><p><em> Shit, <em>he thought.

"What's that supposed to mean? How can you tell?"

"Cad it ain't first time I been pregnant, I know when it's happening. Friend don't know but I took the test, too."

_Oh, shit..._

He hesitated, and then stopped altogether, waiting for her to say the damned name of one certain friend of Ael's. It was a disgusting thought, but a thought that never took full form. He wasn't going to let it.

She had stopped talking.

"Tell me," he said icily.

He could already feel himself itching to kick this man's ass into next month, whoever he was. He wanted to hear his name and cringe at the sound, then smile the next time he heard it outdoors and follow the scent, until the bloody deed was done. He was going to pay. _Fuck_. He was going to pay.

Unless…

"Bane Cad…but, all her friends weren't boys. All girls like her." She paused, trying to breathe. "I think it'syou, Cad. It's you."

* * *

><p><em>Revision Note:<em>

_I noticed a bit of a plothole in this chapter and in the next couple, which is the reason Cad Bane didn't just kill Ael. So I added more to their scene to give it depth and hopefully a little more character development for Ael. She's a tough cookie but doesn't know when enough is enough. Also I felt like the rest of this chapter jumped too much between Bane and Blythe's perspectives, so I rearranged some bubbles of thought as well as gave them a good furnishing to better fit the current situation...and Bane, Jr. is made known!_


	9. Like the Sunset

_"Space Bound"_

_Chapter Nine: Like the Sunset_

* * *

><p><em>"I got a hole in my heart from some kind of emotional rollercoaster<br>Something I won't go on 'til you toy with my emotion, so it's over  
>It's like an explosion every time I hold you, I wasn't joking when I told you<br>You take my breath away  
>You're a supernova"<em>

_-Eminem, "Space Bound"_

* * *

><p>In the wee hours of the morning, Garr Broxin was already busy waxing his hair, polishing his boots, and recovering from his hangover. He had to look his best. If there ever were a time to let go of his old habits or tendencies, it was today. With his sudden new position of authority in the business came an onslaught of responsibilities and to sharpen up his people skills was one of them. Back when Orett Solarin did all the dirty work, he had dragged Broxin into these things at least a dozen times. The only difference was that now Broxin was all on his own, a thought that didn't entirely appeal to him and, in fact, was a reality he was still recovering from, after the shock of hearing his business partner had been killed over three standard weeks ago.<p>

He sniffed his breath on his hand, and after which used a freshener. His hair and clothes smelled like disinfectant with the faint scent of alcohol still present from events of the previous night or two. The heels of his boots clacked against the milky, stainless floor. He approached the door and raised his hand to the control panel.

"Come in, Broxin," he heard from inside, and the door hissed open.

Inside was a little round table with two chairs, one stood right in front of him. In the other on the opposite side sat a Human male dressed in pale trousers and tunic and a dark cloak that brushed the floor. Two shots of Starshine Surprise were on the table, fresh and bubbling.

"Hello, Master Jedi," said Garr Broxin.

The Jedi Master nodded.

"I heard you were in need of my assistance? Pray tell."

"It seems like someone was hired to kill Orett Solarin."

"Well," he chuckled, "as if _that _wasn't obvious."

Broxin sucked in his potbelly as far in as it would go. It was clear he was about to be plagued with diarrhea of the mouth. The only thing left to do was back away.

"I think the story goes from everyone I'm talking the fuck out of, is that Orett _sold_ one of his Twi'lek's and a little later he accused the guy of theft. It's how he makes his extra cash, you know, to keep the business in place, because money is money and money is how we keep it going, and you get the idea. Not to mention he came across them all the time, I mean, the type who thought they were something special and could get service for free by cheating on us, but, we're smarter than they think we are. But Solarin couldn't keep it that simple because he was fucking Orett Solarin and now I got this partnership with the Corrino family to deal with. They're insisting they have the right to avenge Gasta, Kel, and Sexen and they want me to support their game chase by giving them lease and so on. You have not even let me start how the Dio's got into all this."

The Jedi Master was nodding his head the entire time, soaking it all in like a dry sponge as he tapped one finger on the tabletop. When Broxin was finished, he said slowly,

"It sounds to me like you, my friend, need some serious help."

"Of course I need some help, what, do you I sound like I came here to suck on my thumb and slurp Jawa juice in front of you? Orett left me in a sinkhole of a mess and I need to get out. As you recall, we made a deal. I provide you cheap service, and you watch my back for me. Now I can feel my back starting to get hot coals heaped on it and I can feel this all night long, let me tell you. Let me tell you how much I hate it, and yes, I would like your help very much. I mean, you have no idea..."

The Master patiently beckoned for Broxin to sit down. Wetting his lips, Broxin yanked back the chair and collapsed down, and as if by instinct reached for the glass of Starshine Surprise which had so dutifully waited for him. Once he had consumed a good portion of it, he glanced up and noticed the Jedi Master was watching him with silent enthusiasm, as if mentally confirming the rumors he had heard about Broxin's drinking. Broxin set down the glass and coughed into his fist.

"So how do you want me to help you?" asked the Jedi. "I'm a general, you know. I have armies to command, the Council to report to, new infantry to recruit, battle strategies to review, an apprentice to train and supervise, and on top of that a whole galactic war to fight. My schedule is quite swamped."

"You are a busy man, I know that, but you know, whatever it is you are doing, you think it is all for a good cause and that people are happy because of you. You think you're doing something good so you want to do it well, am I right?" Broxin stammered for a moment, trying to find the right words. "I think you will like what I am going to tell you, Master Jedi. I have a feeling that you'll, oh how the hell can I put it, _enjoy _this one for me?"

"Oh?" The Master didn't appear totally convinced. He crossed his arms and leaned, almost lazily, back in the chair, holding back a deep sigh. His upper lip twitched, waiting for Garr Broxin's reply.

"You can help me by getting rid of Orett's killer. When that happens, my last reason to keep my alliance with the dying Corrino clan will be severed. That's the only thing holding me down to the family and the only way I can break off the agreement. I will not have to constantly put up with them breathing down my neck, and what with their approaching bankruptcy I do not have the balls to go down in that ship with them, and I'll make plenty more money without worrying about them. You understand what I'm saying, don't you? You remember what I told you about money, because I just said it...can you let me have your drink? I already finished mine and..."

"Take it." And after Broxin did, he added coldly, "Yes, to some degree, I follow you. The Corrino family only wants to be your ally so you can assist them in their own personal dealings, and this current deal happens to be tied to Orett Solarin's unfortunate passing. Continue, please."

"Five years ago, Orett's partnership wasn't such a bad idea, you know this, of course. Now what with the turning of the war in the Republic's favor, the Corrino's are quickly losing all CIS connections. Sooner or later they're going to go belly-up, down the drain, and I'm not interested in tagging along with that. I've decided to offer a reward to whoever kills the assassin and then plus, there's the stealing matter. I mean, I need to end this, _now_."

"Jedi do not accept bounties. We did, however, make our deal nevertheless. Now, Broxin, if you will, tell me who it is you want me to decapitate."

"I do not think we have time for _that_ list," Broxin said with the sort of laughter one would expect from a small boy who had tortured a small insect to death. "But you won't have a personal problem taking this one down, if you are who you were yesterday or an hour ago or two minutes ago. Just before Orett died, he made a call that I recently got to listen in on, and it gave me a lead. If it's true what they tell me, do you hold a grudge against the bounty hunter Cad Bane, or do you not?"

The Jedi Master leaned forward, old memories flashing in his eyes.

"All right, Broxin, I'm listening," he said.

* * *

><p>Cad Bane stuck a cigarette between his lips and reached for the toolkit nearby. As he stood on the second to top step of the ladder, above him swarmed an array of wires, a sight that to anyone who had never owned a freighter would appear disastrous and chaotic. With careful precision but a growing impatience, Bane worked to secure the power converter back into its prior place. From down below on the ground, he could hear the tinny voice of Todo 360 who was making calculating on the ship's computer. Smoke wafted up from the cigarette, disappearing into the darkness of the bowels of the ship.<p>

Bane's cargo ship, _Sleight of Hand_, was currently undergoing necessary repairs before she was ready for her departure from the Coruscant system. The ship was at least three times the size of _Xanadu Blood_, and while not as fast or efficient as the _Rogue_-class starfighter, made transportation easier when making large deliveries. Within a few days, he hoped to be on Nal Hutta collecting payment from the Hutts for Solarin's assassination. And maybe earn a bonus for killing a pair of Dio's who, in all possibility, were still following his trail. It also did not help matters that, after providing the Lethan with her proper medicine and a quick test to be _certain _she was _right _about the pregnancy, Ael had mysteriously disappeared from her apartment. The tapes, as far as Bane was aware, had been erased as she promised. However, the woman very well could have escaped just long enough to call up some of her own friends to protect her from the bounty hunter, drug addicts and washed-up pirates for friends, but still lethal.

She had gotten away from him, but not for a second time.

Besides, Cad Bane was never a fan of killing poor, defenseless women, even if the act was out of revenge. It was tedious work. Not to mention a bit...boring.

In the middle of his work, he heard Blythe's voice from the cockpit of _Sleight of Hand_. She was singing a song to herself in such a quiet voice it was almost a whisper. In spite of himself, Bane paused in his work, recalling how he had found her the night he returned. Ael had lived up to her word in the technical sense and had not _physically _harmed her...but the evidence had been clear as day.

Todo 360 swung around and landed just below the ladder. Bane refused to so much as glance down from his work, grimacing as he twisted the bolt fastening the power converter.

"Mr. Bane, if you do not mind me asking—"

"What if I did?"

"Then I'm going to say it, anyway. Who is the female?"

Bane's hand slipped, leaving a thin line of blood along one knuckle. Had he Human eyes, he might have rolled them in the droid's direction.

"The _female_," he answered, "is going to be with us for a little while."

"And might I ask as to what purpose she—"

"You're a goddamn droid. You wouldn't get it," he said, pinching the cigarette between his teeth.

"All I'm saying is, the less you keep me informed about your plans and with whom you are in association with, the less I can be of service."

"Shaddup." Bane slammed the lid shut and tossed the remaining tool into the toolkit, which Todo 360 diligently snatched up to return to its shelf in the back of the station.

With a final shudder, _Sleight of Hand _was alive again, humming with newly found power as Bane descended the ladder and stepped around to the side of the ship, as if expecting it to crumble apart at any given second. What the ship lacked in style it made up for in brawn and reliability. The piece of scrap was tough and could get the job done but all things took their toll in their time, and _Sleight of Hand _had seen more than enough damage during the time period known as the Clone Wars. Fortunately, this was also damage that did not pay its weight on Bane's expense of cash. As he grabbed a nearby towel and began wiping the blood and oil from his hands, he heard Blythe, who was still in the cockpit, snicker to the side and make a small remark that had to do with the ship. _His _ship.

"Say somet'in'?" he grunted in her direction.

Blythe's head snapped up.

"Just saying I never thought it work and I know nothing about fixing up a ship."

"I expected as much," he said half to himself. But Blythe did not hear his comment, nor did he intend for her to.

Todo seemed ready to clap his hands as he hovered next to Bane looking up at _Sleight of Hand _and the finished product of their three-hour project that was to repair the ship. Behind Bane he heard heavy, limping footsteps. Before turning around he knew they belonged to the owner of the rental shop in which _Sleight of Hand _had been inhabiting these past few months. A sense of annoyance already tingled through him as Bane turned around to face him.

"Looks like you're good to go," the shop owner said, a dark-skinned Sennes with greasy hands and a thick cigar in his mouth. "Although there will be an extra fee if you want the records clean."

Cad Bane twirled the cigarette between his lips and casually rested one palm over his right holster, glancing the Sennes up and down. He knew what he was dealing with; this was one fellow who didn't take shit from anyone but also knew how to make an extra bargain on the side whenever he could. It was an interesting card that he should play.

"Are you saying what I think you're saying, son?" Bane sneered.

"I think everyone who knows you," the shop owner carefully said, "knows that the Corrino's got a score to settle with you."

"That so?" Bane flicked away the last of the cigarette. "I wouldn't be so quick to share said information so freely like that if I were you."

"You may threaten, but I have my friends too, Bane. And keeping me on your side will cost you extra."

_Fuck. One of those types. Well, can't win every time._

Bane glanced back at _Sleight of Hand_. Then glanced back.

"Look, Bane. I can't guarantee anything. You know traffic comes through here and they'll want something from me. I need pay. The Twi'lek or the droid."

Neither of those mentioned were paying attention to the conversation at hand.

Now Bane was more than irritated.

_Damn those Corrino's! Thinking they can pull all the strings because they have a bigger name. Killing this guy won't get me anywhere. Might just leave another trail I don't need._

Fuck, he was pinned.

"Pay a swindler like you? Over my dead corpse."

"It could end up that way. Look...one of the Corrino brothers gave me some dough to keep my mouth shut. Give me either of those, and I'll stay on your side. And I was the one who covered for you for Devaron, remember that." When the shop owner smiled, it reeked of bad cash. "Friends ain't free nowadays, you know. People need money. There's a war going on."

"No shit about that."

The last thing he wanted to do at this point in time was be put in a place where he would have to rely on someone's else word. Even go so far as to trust. Look how that turned out with Tukoga Noth and Ael.

But what could he do? Call the guy's bluff and hope he didn't have a swarm of Boltrunians onto him long before he made it to Nal Hutta?

Bane let a long pause hang in the air. He shifted his weight to his other leg, looking down at the shop owner with as much indifference as he could muster, as he repeated the two in his head until they were worn clean.

_The droid...the Lethan..._

_ The sarcastic assistant...the little red girl...the little red girl who was with child..._

He tossed away the cigarette, refusing to show his frustration in the action.

"All right. Take the droid. If that will hush you up." He slowly folded his fingers over the blaster, just to get his point across. "Now keep your lips sealed or I'll have to come back and seal them for you."

The Sennes nodded, understanding the bounty hunter full well.

Bane turned around and planted his foot at the bottom of _Sleight of Hand's _docking ramp. He tipped his hat at Todo 360.

"Well, run along, Todo. It was nice to have you."

The words tasted strange in his mouth. Here he was, backed into a corner, giving up his little droid just so one _sleemo _would be less likelyto let news slip that he had been along and was on to Nal Hutta. It should be better than this, less degrading, but it never was. A name like that of the Hutts or the Corrino's trumped that of any mercenary, regardless of one's reputation or skill.

It was no wonder, then, that the Corrino's would go to such great lengths to protect the dignity of that name, and use blood-soaked poetry to hide the cracks in the clay.

Todo, for the first time in a while, found itself stammering for words.

"Wait a minute. What are saying? Does this mean...you are not serious, are you, Bane?"

As the long dreaded pause dragged on, Bane listened to the shop owner in the back sorting through his tools and toys, and he suddenly wondered,

_What kind of a trade did I just make?_

"Wait a minute. Oh, _no_. Does this mean I've been sold, Mr. Bane? Does this mean you've _sold_ me?" The droid's eyes rolled, making panicky calculations. "But, but you told me you wouldn't sell me as long as I didn't malfunction on you, and I haven't. You told me you hated shopping for a new droid, and you still do. You told me you need a droid on almost all of your missions, and I have always fulfilled that requirement well."

Bane saw something—was it _helplessness_?—in the yellow eyes of the droid as it titled its head back to look up at its now former master, a long-time authority and skipper who would become a total stranger with the inevitable mind-wipe from a new owner. The small metallic hands were almost clasped in prayer-like pleading. A thousand contradicting calculations must have been racing through Todo's head at that moment.

"Will you not even tell me what I did wrong to deserve being _sold_? Is there something wrong with me I am not programmed to know about?"

"You're fine. Like new condition. Now get," Bane said.

Todo backed down the docking ramp, his hands idly fidgeting. The shop owner nodded at Bane, as if in reassurance of his integrity. Bane ignored the gesture, turned away, and closed the docking ramp behind him. Trying not to think about what had just happened. What he had just done.

He said it again, half to himself, "It was nice to have you,". Then he took a seat in the cockpit and pulled _Sleight of Hand_ out of the rental shop, leaving his old techno service droid behind. It was a shame to see such a helpful and applicable assistant go like that, just to double-check his own trail. Would he miss it? Would he miss that little droid? When he collected his payment from the Hutts, he'd have more than enough to buy a new one. And a better one, too, one that did not complain or be choosy about his tasks.

Nah. He wouldn't miss Todo.

Hardly...

Not much...

Maybe a little.

Blythe, her hands on her stomach, was slumped down in the co-pilot's seat, quietly humming to herself. It was the only sound on board. Bane wasn't in the mood to tell her to stop it. Maybe that humming comforted her as a means of distracting her from other things.

And now Bane knew all too well what those other thingswere. His supply of medicine had already run short, and there would be very few places to stop until they arrived on the planet. Blythe would have to wait. Blythe, and all the diseases that had left her body like a minefield, all the vulnerability to the slightest ailment, would have to wait. And then there was the pregnancy.

"Where we going?" Blythe whispered as Bane sat down in the cockpit seat.

"Nal Hutta," he answered, only half-listening.

"I been there before."

"Is that so?" He kept his gaze in front of him as _Sleight of Hand _prepared to enter hyperspace. He wasn't surprised that she had been to such a system before. In fact Blythe had probably been there more than once.

"I think...I can make it to Nal Hutta."

He knew what she was referring to. Neither of them were fully aware as to just how sick she might be, but the symptoms were impossible to miss. If he ever bothered to find out, he might not even want to know after all.

At least most of them were not contagious.

"You'd better. I'm not going to want to dump your carcass on some landfill."

"No. I won't die on you, Cad. I promise."

Her voice sounded strained, like she was having a hard time breathing or had to force her heart to keep beating. _Sleight of Hand _jumped into hyperspace and clicked into auto-pilot. Bane put his hat back on. He leaned back in his seat and stretched out one arm lazily. Suddenly his tone turned dark and cold.

"So why don't you? Why not just let yourself go out on me right now?" he dared ask.

"What, what's that mean?"

"It means nothing should be holding you back except that I wouldn't take kindly to it. If you jumped in front of a moving train, who would notice but the last man who paid for you?"

Blythe looked up at him, and what made him look back was the faint brightness in her eyes. In that moment, as she sat curled up in a ball next to him, her chin resting on one knee and her lekku draped over her shoulders, she did not look like the girl who was dancing in Hawke Noth only weeks ago. She looked...innocent. Like that little red girl.

Maybe she even wanted to hold on to the image of that little red girl. Maybe some part of her mind was still convinced it still wasn't too late for her, that she wasn't all what Orett Solarin and all the previous ones had made her become.

And that made it all the worse, because she should know better.

"Well, Cad…when you tell me to let go and drop dead, I'm gonna."

He realized, at first, that he did not know what to say. She would die only when he_ allowed _her to? Is that how deep Solarin's programming had been drilled into her mind?

"Well, then you won't have to worry for a while," he finally replied.

"Cad? That word, _mesh'la_. What's it mean?" she asked, sounding afraid to say it.

_ So she doesn't know._

"_M__esh'la. _Huttese language. Means 'beautiful'."

"I'm not beautiful, Bane Cad."

He put his fingers over her lips to silence her. Blythe tilted her head up, cheeks flushed, the burning nausea in her stomach fading into a memory as his scent swelled in her lungs. She leaned forward until her breasts were pressed against his chest. His fingers began tracing her cheeks, her jaw, and the sides of her face, itching to keep touching and keep feeling.

"Just you and me alone again. You want something?" she muttered. The same thing she had probably said to dozens—scores—of all the others. And nothing should, nothing _did_, made him anymore special from them. It was an absurd premonition to think so.

Why should he ever believe this was about to be different.

At the touch of her flesh against his, his blood was electrified. He was on fire again, a burning desire lying just beneath the skin that screamed for more. Just like the first time and every time after it. He forgot how to think straight. He didn't even _want_ to think. Thinking was dangerous for the heat lest it go cold.

Which was a villainous idea for a bounty hunter to feed, but a most rewarding one as well.

"What do you want me to do, Bane Cad," she asked in a whisper.

"Whatever you want."

Blythe froze.

She knew what they wanted. She had always known starting from the moment her father told her to go to her bedroom, and once there he gagged her with a polishing rag to muffle her screams. He had told her that she was saving the family by helping them pay off a loan. Months later she no longer needed to be gagged. Years later, she didn't have to be told what to do. It was a program, a series of deliberate but mindless acts long worn of their novelty or self-reproach.

But this was different; this had to be different. Did he really want it? To let her go out of his control? To let her do whatever she wanted to do? Maybe he was in a fit over having to give up the little droid, she wondered. Maybe he was drunk.

"Go ahead, _mesh'la_.Don't stop."

Now she knew he was neither angry nor drunk. He really _did_ want this. He wanted to let her make the next move, for the first time.

Her thoughts betrayed her. Because she wanted it as well.

Blythe trembled with sudden adrenaline as she sank to her knees on the floor of the cockpit, her hands grabbing his pants by the belt loops and slowly pulling them down. He let out a long, raspy sigh when Blythe yanked his pants all the way to his knees, and his body sank deep into the chair. As he did, he felt Blythe's hands press against his stomach. His abdomen tingled when her beads of sweat dampened his skin. She heard him croak out a word.

"Hasty," he said.

She wanted to laugh and cry at the same time, as both the adrenaline and the fear swelled inside her, like fire raging against ice.

Blythe pinned her shoulders against the insides of his bare legs. The suddenness of her move made him grunt in delight. With her knees digging into the floor to balance herself up, she gently closed her eyes and balled her hands into fists. He felt her pull and pucker her lips with growing satisfaction. It was more than fire. It was a supernova.

Why did it feel different? Was it because he bought her and freed her from Solarin, not to make money off her but only to have her to himself? Or was it because she had never, ever done anythingto him on her own? Why did he do it? She could feel it in him as he shuddered again—he wanted _more_. More of what? No, just more. Not more sweet nothings or aggressive know-it-all's—just, _more_.

"_Tagwa_," he said, his speech unconsciously slipping into Huttese. "_Tagwa_,_ bolla gran shado_."

And in this moment, at her mercy and struck with such fever that it was as if he were being burned alive, something suddenly sank in. He knew why. _W__hy _he wanted the little red girl, and not just any other girl. The girl who didn't exist anymore. The girl who had once been but faded away until she was more dead than alive. Why it was _not _a Lethan whore he bought from Solarin but _his _little red girl. Why it was _her _he wanted and not Ael or Aurra Sing or a senator or a dancer.

It was because this girl, Blythe, who had once been the little red girl he was searching and digging for, had been there the day before his mother died. She was the last one there before he saw the sight that was the puddle of his mother's blood and the madness in his father's drunken smile. She was there before he knew what death sounded like, what it looked like, what it smelled like.

So it had been the last day before he had his first taste of death, his first murder, and his first corpse. Before the first time a voice inside began to scream and wanted to hear the guilty scream. Before the first time he realized that forgiveness is a waste, hope is a fantasy, and trust always leads to betrayal. Before he raised a blaster to his own father's heart and made his first kill. Perhaps, then, shehad been there on his last day of innocence.

So, then, it wasn't the little red girl he wanted, then. It was that last day of innocence. To be that young boy, with Blythe, just as it had once been for a small moment that years later he could _still _remember.

That's the ironic matter, of course, about innocence. It was like the sunset, a secret behind your lips, a leaf on a tree, your virginity. Because once you slip, and you lose it, it's gone forever. It passes on by to the next. You can never take it back.

He knew that, easily. But he didn't mind, at least for now, to search for something he wouldn't find. The looking would be satisfactory, after all. It was a journey with a hollow destination, but the journey made it worthwhile. To keep digging until he knew this girl from the inside-out, and was certain she wasn't the little red girl.

Blythe inhaled deeply, letting her tongue swirl. She had no idea where her hands were going, or what they were doing to him. Sweat trickled down her back. Her knees inched closer to him. She felt him give a long shudder. He groaned with thirsty pleasure, choking down a gulp of air. Then, breathless, she let go. She leaned all her weight on his right leg and lay limp, the last of her energy for the day all but spent. It was over.

He felt feverish. The Huttese words were still hot on his tongue. The fire had burned every inch of him and finished him off with a dousing of gasoline that smelled like sweat. His first sane thought was dark and simple.

_Never again._

He had done the unthinkable. He had given in. Surrendered.

That was something he should never, _ever_ do again, not with Blythe or anybody.

He heard a faint whisper, a question from Blythe, but he was still unable to answer. Instead, he asked her to stay, holding her close, and trying to force himself to smile because it had felt _so good_. That she had done well and would have nothing to fear that night or the next. Then again, all good things are inevitably bittersweet.

Ever since he decided this girl was no longer going to belong to anybody, something had happened. Had it not started then? Had it not been there when emotion trumped requisite on the night he returned from Coruscant? And here it was again and he _let _it happen.

He was becoming somebody he couldn't afford to be. Somebody who could lose control. Even someone who gave up control.

A poison, like fire, that tasted good, and he could do nothing but despise it and ask for another dose at the same time. A feeling that was incredible in its moment but left a sour trail of guilt behind. _That's _what had happened. It wasn't just about the girl who was there to give it to him whenever he wanted it. The girl made him demand for it, want it when he did not need it, even when it meant surrender or sacrifice or worse, both. Indeed, it was a poison. It was something that must be eradicated immediately lest he slip again.

What was she doing to him?

* * *

><p><em>Revision Note:<em>

_Ah, this chapter. Added more to the dialogue between Broxin and Unnamed Jedi to give it a better foundation (BTW, still deliberately leaving this Jedi Master anonymous...don't feel like picking on a canon character and creating an OC is distracting from the point). Cad Bane has a more developed reason not to kill the guy instead. (Don't worry, guys! He'll get to slaughter again in due time.)_

_And the other stuff...you have _no_ idea how much of a challenge it was to write/re-write. How can I say this, but it seems deeply symbolic in a way, like a moment of trust and yielding. But, meh...what do I know?_


	10. The Lady and the Tramp

_"Space Bound"_

_Chapter Ten: The Lady and the Tramp_

* * *

><p><em>"He's a tramp, he's a scoundrel<em>  
><em>He's a rounder, he's a cad<em>  
><em>He's a tramp but I love him <em>  
><em>Yes, and even I h<em>_ave got it pretty bad_  
><em>You can never tell w<em>_hen he'll show up_  
><em>He gives you plenty of trouble"<em>

-_Disney's _The Lady and the Tramp, _"He's a Tramp"_

* * *

><p>Nal Hutta. A dump that festered with decay and old memories.<p>

Cad Bane preferred not to have much of anything to do with Nal Hutta, save for when he had business with the Hutt clan, who were regular and well-paying customers of his. Otherwise, he tried to avoid the place whenever another possible alternative for a pit-stop or resupply was available to him. And one scarcely needed so much as a glance at the planet's surface to realize his reasons for such distaste.

Nal Hutta, in essence, was its own form of scum and unlawfulness. Rather than the blend of aggression and subtle vindictiveness as was present in the majority of galactic urban sectors or black market slums, Nal Hutta bred a lethargic malevolence. It was the pit where escaped convicts and fugitives sank into the shadows, a harbor for violent sports, whether by engine or fist or trapdoor, invited in scores of gamblers and arrogant contenders whose first match would also be their last. It was not a place for those who took the game seriously, and the few who were serious were the worst kind, and unfit for any other galactic location. In short, bounty hunters knee-deep in the business did not fare for long on the Nal Hutta system.

As _Sleight of Hand _touched down within walking distance of the flat, rotting city surrounded by swamp which harbored the Hutt palace, Blythe began to stir from her short-lived nap. Deciding rest was a healthy and reasonable option for her, Bane had let her doze off once she had started expressing exhaustion. She was awake just as the ship landed, and Bane ejected the ramp. By then, it was late afternoon on Nal Hutta, and the heat of midday had seeped away for the most part.

Pulling on his coat, Bane exited the cockpit and descended the ramp. The strong odor of decay and mold hung in the air like a poisonous gas fume, soaking up the dry plants into the lethal moisture. Down the street a ways was a motel, and farther ahead, the Hutt's palace. It stood like a sickly-green block against a putrid horizon. Even tasting the stink of the surrounding swamps made sickness tingle in the pit of his stomach. But, as he had done every time business with the Hutts came up, he was able to choke it down without too much effort.

_I've come this far. Kept a clean trail. No setbacks, _he thought. There was always a chance a Corrino or an ally of the family would be on Nal Hutta doing backdoor deals with the locals, and thus he had to tread lightly during their brief stay here. And of course, there was Blythe to be concerned about. He certainly could not have her seen with him in the Hutt palace or any other public place. His only other options were to have her stay with the ship or find them a place to stay for the night.

Blythe stood at the top of the ramp, playing with one of her lekku.

"You want me to do something, Bane Cad?"

"Yeah. I do. Get down."

"I get to come with you?" she asked.

_She's acting like a little child._

She _was _a little child. In all the wrong ways.

"I don't want any unnecessary trouble. You keep yourself here until I get back."

"What, what is that mean? You don't want no work done on the side, no getting them right off work shifts? Orett said it's waste of time and...expenses."

"I thought I said I don't care what he thinks. Are you listening to me? Now stay and hold tight until nightfall."

She looked ready to say something, but held her tongue at the last second. Before he could wonder as to what her words might have been, he left her behind. Inside, he made a mental note to, as soon as possible, come up with a better alternate arrangement for these type of situations. In fact, it could hardly be that difficult, for he could easily come up with a list of associates in the same situation who had found their way around the setbacks, and were able to continue their work with all the benefits of their object, or _objects_, of pleasure.

Alone, and trying to put Blythe out of his train of thought, Bane made his quiet way down the wide street. His first rule on Nal Hutta was to avoid eye contact—and of course, the second rule was that if eye contact was made, it must be done with great intent. Both, he had learned the hard way years ago just prior to his very first hiring by the Hutts. The Duros bounty hunter walked past the small individuals huddled in tight circles from which emitted multicolored smoke of terrible herbal scents, past the sweatshops with the neon pulse lights flashing at the front, past the drunk half-dead forms lined up alongside their empty bottles. He knew he would have to watch his every move as long as he was on Nal Hutta, just in case some Corrino's or Dio's happened to stumble by. On the corner of the street stood a cantina that stuck out as something from a memory, and he realized he must have met there once before with a handful of other mercenaries. Perhaps it wouldn't be a bad place to catch up on the latest happenings during their stay on Nal Hutta. After all, it was a sin to be misinformed.

As could be expected, Gamorrean guards blocked the entrance to the Hutt palace. Inside, Bane picked up a disorderly assemble of alien laughter drowning out a familiar pop song in the background. It took but seconds for Bane to show them the proper identification and the terms of agreement signed by the Hutts, and they allowed him inside. By instinct, he lowered the brim of his hat to avoid unwanted attention, in case anyone would happen to recognize him. And he knew for a fact, anybody he knew by name who was hanging out on Nal Hutta was _not _someone he was in the mood to mingle with today. A group of four female dancers were twirling about in the center, waving around long scarves that seemed to dance with them. The crowd cluttered around the edges. The lights were dimmed, leaving the entire room but pitch-dark were it not for the dance lights. Bane shuffled through the crowd making his way to where the Hutts were gathered. Bane slipped around the corner and under the tattered curtain that separated the rest of the palace from the Hutts' personal quarters. The protocol droid at the entrance, standing next to a second guard, intercepted the term of agreement in Bane's hand and quickly announced his presence to the Hutts.

"The Almighty Jabba and the Hutt family shall pay you as you so have requested for eradicating their opponent Orett Solarin." The droid gestured down to a black case sitting on a small rug on the floor.

Bane knelt down and opened the lid for one split second. Years ago, his heart may have skipped a beat to see so many credits contained in one place, and it was almost delightful to think of it. Just as had been guaranteed, he was a professional who did not miss, and they were a wealthy clan who did not disappoint in revenues.

"You need anything else?" he asked. He picked up the case and looked up, unafraid to look the young Hutt right in the eye. It was a simple but useful tactic almost guaranteed to leave a healthy impression on the employer, which practically set its own reservation for future hirings, and thus, a more secure income most of one's peers would quietly envy.

The protocol droid translated from Jabba, then said,

"You will be notified when we requite your assistance again, bounty hunter."

"Hutts," he tipped his hat, "I'll look forward to when we meet again."

No matter how many times it happened, or how many opportunities given that made one accustomed to it, nothing felt quite as good as carrying the next big payday in one's own hands. Numbers on a screen just couldn't measure up to money you could see and touch and smell. Such sensations were the preserver of many memories. Good memories.

* * *

><p>It was late in the day by that time. He was tired. At least, tired enough that ravenous thoughts of a hot meal and a clean bed—neither of which he had had in many months—were seeping in and distracting his mind from more important, delicate matters. Worse, the headache that had bothered him on his way to the Ryloth system was coming back. It was about the time that Bane was walking by the familiar cantina again that the thought of a drink began to sound rather appealing. He tried glancing away but it was too late. The last drink he had had, Bane suddenly recalled, was a Thuris Stout in Hawke Noth Cantina over a game of sabaac.<p>

Fuck, he wanted one _now_.

Bane considered the other possible options. All that was left to do for the day was collect Blythe and find a place to sleep for the night—or just bunk down in the ship for the twentieth time in a row. No. He could not see any reason why she shouldn't wait for him a little while longer. Perhaps she was resting again, which was certainly not a bad thing for her as of now. It would be just one or two drinks, after all.

As he approached the cantina, Bane caught a glimpse of a metallic, tortilla-shaped hat from inside. The figure turned its head slightly toward the front entrance from where it sat at a small table in the corner, revealing pale amber eyes as it did so.

Bane felt a small hint of delight. The figure was none other than Embo, the bounty hunter who had come second place to Bane the previous year. They had done three jobs together since the start of the Clone Wars, but for the past year Embo had refused much of Bane's company. Childish of him, but it was not without reason.

This was too much—finding a fellow like Embo in a place like this. No way he could pass up a drink now.

Bane did not hesitate to step inside the cantina. In a flurry, surrounding him was a swarm of the chattering, bickering, creaking, and clinking of the half drunken assembly, the soundtrack of the walking dead of Nal Hutta. It was all regular noise to Bane, but at the moment it was not helping his headache. It took but seconds for Bane to recognize a few faces, some he knew and some he wished he didn't know—like the retired dancer and her two, no _three _boyfriends, and an old partner from a pre-war heist, and a huddled group of smugglers he would have to settle an old score with one of these days when he was up for some entertainment. And then there was Embo sitting at that table in the corner with his back to the Duros bounty hunter. Bane should have been surprised to see a Weequay bounty hunter named Shahan Alama and, who else but Aurra Sing, seated with Embo as well. An onslaught of memories flashed in front of Bane's consciousness. He quickly ringed up a few questions to ask them in case they had an answer. It is a sin to be misinformed.

In the back of his head, the headache lingered on. In fact, it was getting worse.

He approached the group steadily. They might be in on a new hiring and discussing imperative matters, and wouldn't want another bounty hunter to overhear too much. But what with how they had decided to meet in a place that was crawling with said breed of mercenary, and Embo had just lost a round of pazaak to a cackling Alama, Bane highly doubted it.

Bane forced back a small grin as he approached an unsuspecting Embo before the others could notice him.

"Thanks for busting me out of prison just like you agreed you would," he said.

Embo jumped up and spun around. His amber eyes glowed as he immediately looked up at Bane right in the eye. But, as Bane had anticipated from Embo, the fellow did not appear startled or frightened. It was almost Force-like the way nothing could Embo's round, unwavering stare or the steady composure that always came before extreme or sudden emotions.

Aurra Sing looked up from her pazaak winnings. A deceptively simple smile was smeared across her face. Her skeletal fingers tapped the edge of the table in rhythm.

"Bane. What brings you on Nal Hutta?" Sing drawled.

"Most likely the same that's reeling in everyone else, that is unless you actually intend to stick around," he replied coolly.

_Sing. Of all people to run into. The day is getting more interesting every minute._

"Looks like you caught us at a good time. There's a story going around that most bounty hunters are running short on work, and, I'd be curious as to your take on the story." Sing fingered her credit chips as the Duros bounty hunter sat down the vacant seat next to hers.

Bane had no need nor intention of hiding his reaction to Sing's comment.

"Sounds like you're trying to tell me something I already know." Bane leaned back and propped one foot up on the table, and while waiting for Sing's reply, ordered a shot of whiskey.

"I heard rumor you had a killing job recently," she slipped.

"Let me guess. You're dying of curiosity. Course, in case you're interested to know, I almost forgot to give you my thanks for slipping me that little tool."

"So it did come in handy." Sing perked up, grinning. "And all you do in return is say 'thank you'? Come on. Have another drink." She turned her seat towards him and smiled as she leaned forward. Bane set his foot back down on the floor. The moment was short-lived. He relaxed and let her graze her lips over his for a few slow seconds. He could still recall the last time Sing had demanded a big thank-you from him, and the position in which he had woken up the following morning. She was dynamite, a woman not to be bridled in bed, and to disappoint her was to wrap a noose around one's own neck. Aurra Sing, the half-human hybrid. "Fuck you or kill you" must be her mentality.

Then, Bane remembered that Sing was playing with the collar of his coat, and his hands were teasingly beginning to reach for her breasts in reminiscence. He forced the moment to end and pulled back. Sing got the idea quickly and sat back down, licking her lower lip in satisfaction.

"That's better," she cooed. "Now, can I buy you a drink?"

"You should know me better than that. I prefer treating out myself." He finished off his shot of whiskey and addressed the whole group, "So when did any of you last have the bolts to get hired?"

"Two months, fifteen days," Shahan Alama answered without hesitation.

"My last one was for a crime lord on Glee Ansom," said Sing, still licking her lips, "but it's Lord Sidious who ripped me off. We had our negotiations, a guarantee for me to make big bucks. And then out of nowhere I get the rug pulled out from under me. Now the only employers that won't stab me in the back are on the neutral systems, and that's a decreasing number. Hell. You'd think he was about to go bankrupt."

"That so? A tad interesting to hear that from someone else," said Bane.

"Why do you say that?" asked Embo, the first time he had spoken up since Bane arrived.

"A handful of weeks ago, I took out three Corrino brothers and three Dio's, and what do you think he pays me?" Shrugs were passed around the table. "Thirty-five thousand muja fruits. I lost nearly half of what we agreed on with no explanation other than some bullshit about the war effort."

"Odd behavior," Embo said quietly, staring down at the tabletop.

"Same happened to me not too long ago," added Alama. "I put a laser bolt through this Jedi Knight's skull on Dantooine and I only get a quarter million credits. The war's either more in the Republic's favor than the HoloNet's letting on, or it's some sort of...random test, I guess."

"You know it can't be random," Aurra Sing said. All at once, her voice had gone dark, to black ice. "Something different is going on. Or something different is about to happen."

"He's saving up? A reward so big we can all retire by next year?" Alama suggested hopefully.

"Not a chance," the Duros bounty hunter snarled at him. "I know his type. The old man wants us to find work elsewhere. If he kept hiring us, it would hurt him. I don't rightly know how."

"So you think he's warning us about something? Trying to move us away so he doesn't lose assets? That's a pretty long shot," asked Sing.

Bane took his second shot of whiskey, drank it down, and ordered another. He wanted to push himself. Let his guard down and get a little drunk, even. Anything to numb down the headache. The worse it got, the more irritated he became, and wishing it would go away. And right here, right now, on Nal Hutta with Blythe and Aurra Sing to keep him company nonetheless, would be a great and terrible waste to spend feeling simply irritated.

"If that's your word of choice, call it a warning, then. I'd like to know what it was for," he answered.

Out of the corner of his eye Bane intentionally avoided Embo's curious glance at the three, now four empty shot glasses in front of him.

"We'd make a fortune on that kind of knowledge. Everyone's been having to eat this shit," Sing snapped, crossing her legs.

Cad Bane gulped down yet a fifth shot of the drink with satisfaction. As he had been anticipating, a swell of lights and color seemed to swarm around the room in that next instant, as if the brightness and saturation of the world had suddenly tripled in intensity. The headache was still existent but, to Bane, had retreated to the past-tense or the back-burner of his thoughts. Now, his thoughts had been jumbled in the soup of whiskey swirling in his brain, and they were no longer of blasters and starship mechanics but of fiery red skin and a back against the wall. Not of names and numbers but of fruit-flavored lipstick on his collarbone, and...and why Aurra Sing had to pose her long, long legs out like that. Because _dammit_, he knew what those legs could do wrapped around a man's waist. He looked up at her with a wide, sly grin, which she did not return.

"You think you'll pull through...or are you asking for assistance through this most recent trauma?" Bane asked. He did not stop his body weight from leaning slightly towards her.

"Even if I was going through hell, I wouldn't ask you for help," Sing said, not missing a beat.

"I can be a gentleman if it pays well enough, and not necessarily in cold cash." A sixth shot.

"Don't drink yourself to death," Embo muttered. Funny how he really sounded like he cared about Bane's level of intoxication.

The Duros bounty hunter's crimson eyes were burning, on fire. On fire. Cutting. Cold. Who ever told him to slow down his drinking? Couldn't he have as many as he wanted? Who cared? Everything got a little more fun with some alcohol on the side. He wasn't perfectly aware of how many of his thoughts had spilled out into words, but he was aware that, _dammit_, if he wanted to get drunk, he damn well could and nobody had the right to tell him otherwise when they were not one step higher in the party. And besides this was fucking Nal Hutta; if there were one place in the galaxy a professional could get as drunk as the next half-dead hoodlum and show nothing for it the following morning, it was here.

"I can't hang around much longer, boys. I'll go see if I can convince Hondo's gang they owe me one." Aurra Sing was standing up, stretching her back.

"It was nice to catch up with you," said Embo. He never even glanced up as she began walking away.

Bane quickly pushed away his chair and jumped to his feet. Sing glanced behind and noticed he was following her, but did not slow down or stop. Instead, she pretended as if she hadn't seen him. Rather than taking the main way out of the cantina, Sing cut back through the back down a darkened hallway only occupied by a few passed out individuals. Once there, she spun around with flames in her eyes. Bane's smile only widened.

"I know what you have on your mind, Bane. You haven't seen me in a while and you miss a few things, don't you?"

"Are you teasing, or making an offer?" he asked.

"Watch it." She slapped his hand off her chest. "Ain't touching you when you're drunk. I know you enough to know better than that."

"Come now, I only had eight. It ain't anything like...our first time."

She slapped him again.

"Don't test me. Don't you dare test me." She took a few steps back further into the darkness as Bane glared on after her. "Come around again when I'm in a better mood and you're in a cleaner state of mind."

"I'm clean right now," he grumbled.

Sing smirked, dipping her chin.

"Sure, you are. Once you have your hunger set on it, you just can't stop, can you? Besides, didn't you once say you had more fun when I was the one making all the rules?" Then as soon as it had come, the smirk was gone. "If you want to fuck someone up after all those drinks, why don't you take it out on your little slut? I heard she must have some high-quality services after the price you laid down for her."

Had Bane only had two or three shots of the drink instead of the supposed eight, he would have been furious at Aurra Sing's last comment, not to mention her cold refusal of his affections. Even in that case, he would have been able to do little, as she was gone and out of the cantina before he could so much as utter a response. His thoughts were slow, marinated in the intoxication. Chasing after her and demanding her to apologize or give in or both was out of the question; even in his state he knew it would be a foolish and pointless endeavor. But he had to wonder how Sing found out about Blythe at all. Had it been from someone in Happyface she was connected to, or worse yet, loose lips from Orett Solarin or his partner Garr Broxin before the former took the hit?

Either way, Bane finally arrived to the logical conclusion that he should be getting back to the ship before excitement from another source commenced.

As he made his way down the dark hall, stepping over a few empty bottles here and there, he was stopped by a loud noise. From outside the cantina, Bane heard a male shout, followed by a second that was greater in gleeful rage. There was the sound of someone colliding into a solid, inanimate object, as if thrown against it. Then came high-pitched giggles—female Twi'lek giggles. Strained, shallow, and terrified.

He knew that voice. It was Blythe's.

_Oh, shit...!_

Bane heard her giggle again, and he could already see the scene playing out before him; he could see her letting it happen. Blythe thought he had been gone too long, and maybe she started to panic and of course had to assume she should go and find him. She must have gotten out, left the ship, and went looking for him or some other fucking mistake. Now it was unmistakable; someone had seen her and thought they could have some fun. The shouts continued, and there was the sound of someone being slapped. A few heads in the cantina turned towards the noise outside, but no one else was paying attention, much less interested in finding out what it was.

A strange cold sweat formed on his skin as Bane bit down on his tongue.

It took merely a second to survey the scene. Outside, a gang of three Weequay's were gathered in the back alley behind the cantina. They had surrounded a small, red-skinned figure pinned helplessly against the garbage bin. The figure lay face-up, bare chest exposed, as her legs were pressed against the wall. One arm was held down as the others pressed their hands around her neck, along her thighs, and between her breasts. She was saying something to them.

"Better stop. Said, better stop..." Above the chorus of dark chuckles came a small whimper, calm but timid. "Gonna hear from him if don't stop."

It was most certainly Blythe. Her large dark eyes were wide with excitement and her hands trembled as she was held down by the wrists. There was no sign of open resistance or struggle, not even a cry for help.

Even a girl with a fraction of Ael's resolve and ferocity would have kicked and screamed.

Why wasn't she fighting back?

"Shut up. Nobody wants to save you."

As the small, scrawny, skin-and-bones figure made a sound that was a mixture of a laugh and a pitiful cry, the three Weequay's began to laugh between themselves. The tallest and biggest of the three pinched the sides of her mouth, forcing her to open up, an act which only provoked more laughter.

"Now, you little slut, you'll swallow when I tell you to."

That was enough. Bane, without thinking twice about it, drew out his blaster and stepped forward. In his eyes, the three hoodlums were far weaker and smaller than in actuality, as Blythe's cries began to grow in desperation.

Why did she have to go and do that? Why couldn't she have just stayed and followed his orders? Was it so...difficult?

"Stop, hurting me..." she said again.

In reply, one of the Weequay's slapped her across the face, leaving a mark the shape of his hand.

"Getchyer hands off her."

The three looked up with less surprise on their faces than had been expected by the intruder, puzzled at this sudden demand from a Duros bounty hunter.

"What?"

"I said, getchyer fucking hands off her. And if there's one thing I hate it's saying something twice, all right?"

The ground felt wobbly, like quicksand. Their faces were cold, gray, and dancing under the swamp's humidity. He refused to look down at her and see, what must have been shown clearly on her face, what she was thinking. If she had been thinking at all. He stepped forward and raised his blaster.

It was then that the three, or at the very least two of them, suddenly recognized just who was approaching them and that he was no ordinary Nal Hutta resident. The tallest one's eyes widened as he began to back away.

"What the fuck do you want with her? She's a—" His sentence was cut off by a loud shout of pain. The shot from Bane's blaster echoed down the back alley. The Weequay winced, holding his bicep where a burning hole had cut through the fabric.

"Next time I shoot it'll be the last sound you hear. And just from my experience your fucking Weequay corpses always leave quite the mess behind, and we don't want to go through all that trouble, do we?"

As their comrade limped back, moaning in pain, the two remaining Weequay grabbed Blythe by the arms and tossed her to the filthy ground. She landed in a curled-up heap. Bane glanced down and immediately noticed bruises on the top of her head and on her shoulders.

Why didn't she fight back?

Anger surged through him. That these scumbag nobodies thought they could touch what belonged to him and get away with it. That Blythe would make such a foolish move as to run out all on her own. That of all times to get drunk and think he could have a pleasant evening for once it had to be right now. Bane looked back up, aiming with his blaster.

"Look, we thought she was just a street girl, honest. We didn't know. Now get out of here," one of them snapped.

Bane shook his head, trying to smile, although he knew they were probably right. Even if Blythe had told them who she was, they would not have believed her.

Once again, had Bane been sober, he might have done something very differently.

"Give you to the count of three to depart from the premises." He waved his blaster, pretending to lose his aim for a moment.

Blythe, meanwhile, hugged her knees to cover up her chest.

"One." With a smirk, Bane quickly aimed and shot one of them in the lower leg. As the Weequay screamed and backed away, running as fast as he could, the remaining fellow raised his hands in surrender.

"Two."

But before Bane could think of counting to three, the last Weequay turned and ran out of the alley after his companions. They could still be heard not too far off as they rushed to the nearest aid station or place of shelter. Bane kicked a piece of trash on the ground as he dropped his arm. Then he turned around and looked down at Blythe. He muttered something inaudible to her, sticking his blaster back into its holster.

"Blythe, come on. You gotta get up."

She wiped the sides of her face. The front of her tunic had been torn, exposing more than would have been appropriate even for the urban backstreets of Nal Hutta. As she pressed her palms to the ground to steady herself, she made no effort to cover up what she could. It was as if she either did not notice, which was nearly impossible, or she did not even care.

She was taking too long to stand up. Bane frowned, grabbed her, and pulled her up by the arm.

"Why didn't you fight back?" He paused. "They drug you?"

"No drugs."

"Then why the hell didn't you fight back?"

Instead of answering, she wrapped her arm around his shoulder and grabbed the edge of his duster, trying to smile.

"Sorry, okay? Won't do it again."

And before they were out of the back alley and Bane was making his somewhat steady way back to the ship, he found the answer to his own question, and it made him feel disgusted.

She didn't fight back because she was not supposed to. Orett Solarin and years of what the man would call _training _had made the concept of 'fighting back' a long forgotten one, an action that was out of the question. More specifically, perhaps she had not been allowed to fight back, and had faced punishment when she did.

The final reasonable thought in his head was that if he was going to bring Blythe with him on his off-job travels, he would have a lot of work to do. A lot had to be undone.

* * *

><p>There was a knock on Ael's door.<p>

"Come in, please," she croaked. She flicked away the last of her deathstick with her thumb and index finger. As if by instinct, she lit another one and yanked her skirt down over her thighs as far as it would go.

The door opened and there he was. The Jedi Master.

"You came after all. I was starting to think you wouldn't," the Duros woman said simply. Her gaze hardened, deep creases forming across her forehead. "I'm closed for now. I'm fighting off some awful cold in the chest again. There's no need to be passing it on or nothing."

"Maybe you should smoke less of those deathsticks. Those things demolish the immune system and shave years off the life of even the occasional smoker."

"Don't be the judge of me," she was quick to reply. "You got your life, and I got mine. Lightsabers are a lot more fucking dangerous, anyway."

"Whatever you say...my lady."

She smirked in personal triumph as she ran a finger around the rim of her beer glass, picking up specks of dried foam. Once the circumference was complete, she licked the foam off her finger with a loud, obnoxious smack. Then she gestured towards the black case in front of her on the table.

"There's what the Corrino brothers paid me," she said.

"For what, my lady?"

"Telling them," she sniffed, "telling them where the bounty hunter is. Soon as I do, they're stuffing their sorry carcasses in a ship to go and finish him off for killing Gasta Corrino. Once they drag what will be left of the body to Broxin's doorstep and see their mistake..." She pounded her fist on the table as a demonstration. Meanwhile, the Jedi Master nodded.

"I see. So as the Corrino's, and now the Dio's, go in for some revenge killing spree, they're doing Garr Broxin a big favor."

"As long as any common enemies between them and Broxin are still breathing, they stand a chance. And now the slightest mistake is going to end them."

"I imagine they share more than just one common enemy. Once those are dead, Broxin is cutting off all ties to the family since he'll have no reason to continue negotiations with them. It seems the Corrino's have chosen to die with dignity rather than letting their enemies roam free."

"One of the dilemma's with having a big public image, isn't it? Sooner or later you're backed into a corner. Death by fire or ice. And they chose fire," Ael finished.

"You just got lucky because you happen to know one specific enemy's whereabouts. That would be Gasta Corrino's killer, am I correct?"

"Sure, sure that's correct. You keep on the Dio's tail, you'll find the bounty hunter you want. Isn't that what you came to see me about?"

"Ael, my lady..." the Jedi Master planted one foot on the stool in front of him and rested an elbow on his knee, "didn't you realize that if I followed the Dio's, the Jedi Council would find out about my agreement with Garr Broxin? I'd be doing it off-duty and without orders; it would only be a matter of time before they uncovered our connections while they were questioning me. No, no, I can't risk the indignation of it."

"So why don't you call off the agreement with him?" she proposed.

"Because then all I would get is old, half-dead lesbians like you who demand high payment."

"That's correct. Broxin has a lot of the younger ones. They're much cheaper, since they don't eat as much, and they don't get pregnant." The woman sucked long and hard on her deathstick. "So what _do _you want from me, then?"

"A favor."

"What favor?"

"To me, Ael, it seems you're the only one not doing anyone any favors. The Dio's are, Solarin did, Broxin did, even I am. Not you. I need a favor from you now."

"What do you want?"

"Tell me where Bane is headed."

"Pay me and I'll give it to you just like I did to them."

"This information will have to be free, Ael."

She laughed heartily, choking on the cold in her chest.

"Nothings free, Jedi. Everything costs you. Every time I smoke one of these, it means I die a day sooner. Bane steals the Lethan whore from Solarin, takes out three Corrino's, and now everybody's chipping in for the hunt. _You _come here to get big discounts on Broxin's girls, but every time you risk getting caught by the Jedi Council. Everything wears a price tag and the only ones who say otherwise are the ones doing the selling."

The Jedi Master took a long pause, staring down at the aging, self-owned prostitute he only knew because of her bond to Garr Broxin. He nodded slowly. As he did so, he drew back his leg and stood up straight once again, humming a soft tune behind his lips.

"How about you give me the information _before _I pay you?" he asked simply.

The joke was so childish it made the Duros woman hesitate. She had but a second to see his right hand poised over his lightsaber.

"What are you saying, Jedi? Do you really expect me to—"

A blue beam of light flashed in front of her. She jumped out of her chair, but it was too late. Something strong and invisible, like a leather hand, seized her by the throat.

She gasped. She clutched at her neck, but the squeezing and the twisting of muscles made it impossible to break. Trying to scream, she collapsed on the floor as her legs turned to jelly. Her eyes felt as if they would pop out of their sockets. She couldn't breathe. Her lungs were collapsing in on her chest.

"Ael, my lady dear...if I were to pay you before you told me, I couldn't get what I wanted, could I?" the Jedi cooed, standing over her body as she thrashed and writhed on the hard damp floor. His lightsaber was inches above her cheekbone. He released her throat through the Force, and her nicotine-soaked lungs gulped for air.

In a weak, hoarse voice, she asked,

"_What_ payment?"

Ignoring her question, he reached out into the Force again, this time to find her mind. When he sensed it, he murmured,

"Tell me where Cad Bane is headed, Ael."

"No—no, please don't this..."

She was one of the stronger ones, but not by much. The Jedi Master searched deeper and deeper into her subconscious, breaking past her barriers of ego, focus, and concentration. Like thousands of dark, dusty closets within one another and down long hallways, he filtered through visual, auditory, and olfactory senses alike, and as the doors broke down they fell to the floor to hide from the intruder rummaging through to the center of the mind. It was a giant, crumbling mansion of a subconscious—some, he recalled, were small elegant homes, others were colorless hospitals or courtrooms, and a rare few had roofs for floors and mirrors that bled water—and at its core was the familiar pale waterfall that gushed white waves of thought, emotion, command, and ultimately the personality. The intruder stabbed into the water with that Force power. His victim screamed as she felt the water freeze into ice and then chop into pieces as it was divided and sorted as if in an assembly line. Dream became object, color became thought, and emotion became sole reality. And suddenly he could see all of them; he could _feel_ all of the men who had paid for her body crawling over her broken soul like little black leeches sucking at the blood that made her soul keep beating. It felt disgusting to sense strangers' hands covering him as their voices whispered in his ears, but he pressed on. Under a tattered rug he uncovered the fact that the bounty hunter, Cad Bane, had been among those men, too, at one time at least.

"Few horrors equal to feeling someone sort through all your memories, your emotions, who you really are, like I'm sticking my hand into a broken machine? Isn't it, dearest, the worst sensation of all?" He dug deeper into the Force. "Isn't it, love...?"

"N—No..." she stuttered, shaking uncontrollably. And for the first time in many years, she cried like a little girl. "_Stop_! Please, stop! Get out! Out, _please_!"

"Say it, my lady."

A door hidden beneath the rug was yanked open, and flooded with the pale water.

"N—N-Nal...Nal Hutta. Hutt palace."

Smiling to himself, he finally did what he had come here to do. As he allowed the waterfall to melt, he ran his hand through it. In seconds it had turned from ivory white to a deep, inky black, and as he breached the mansion's walls it flooded into every closet and bedroom until the last speck of dust had been washed away. Consciousness into dark matter, he listened as her mind was consumed, and collapsed in on itself.

The Duros woman's eyes went pale, and her limbs went limp. With a final gasp, she trembled and was silent. He rose to his feet and put away his now deactivated lightsaber. A grimace crossed his face as he brushed at his coat, a bit repulsed that he had come into such close physical contact with horrendous scum as her. Ael, the old prostitute, had died with her eyes hung open and her tongue dangling out of the side of her mouth.

_That _was her payment. Being free of the rotten, corrupted soul she was. Just filtering through her memories and the story of how she became what she was had been repulsing enough as it was. His only relief was that he would not have to do business with such scum as hers for much longer. If there was one thing he hated it was creatures like her who descended to such low states of morality and sophistication they violated their own bodies in the process. It was all, in essence, disgusting to so much as be in the presence of such animals.

Within the hour, he had prepared his starship to leave for the Nal Hutta system.

* * *

><p><em>Revision Note:<em>

_Jeezums! That was a long chapter! Sorry, not sorry._

_Bane and Aurra Sing had some "alone time" in the revision, albeit not exactly the kind of alone time Bane was hoping for, ha-ha. Went a little more in-depth into their relationship as well as the supposed "history" between them, which by the way is my headcanon and not canon (yet!) in the SW universe. Blythe's role in this chapter was also tweaked a bit. _The scene with Ael and the Jedi Master (deliberately unnamed here BTW...I don't want to pick on any canon Jedi and just making an OC would not be enough to symbolize all the Jedi as a whole) was added to as well; more specifics as to what they're discussing as it relates to what is going on in the story. I also added a lot more description with the Jedi entering her mind. I've always wondered what it's like both for the intruder and the victim to use the Force on someone's mind and I think I went overboard with the poetic side, but it was fun. Also, the way he kills her is using the Force to consume her entire consciousness leaving her basically brain-dead; thought that would be cool and definitely capable of a Jedi.__

_For the record, Bane is quite fun to write when he is intoxicated, and I went more into how that affects him in the revision. I like to imagine he has a hard time shutting up. Naturally someone with his occupation rarely finds a place when it's safe to actually get drunk, so when opportunity strikes, I can bet they take it to their advantage. Hmm._

_Thanks for sticking through this insanely-long chapter. I'll try to trim them down more next time. (But come on, Nal Hutta is such a juicy place!)_


	11. Jedi vs Bounty Hunter

_"Space Bound"_

_Chapter Eleven: Jedi vs. Bounty Hunter_

* * *

><p><em>"And thus I clothe my naked <em>_villainy,_  
><em>With odd old ends stolen out of holy writ,<em>  
><em>And seem a saint, when most I play the devil."<em>

_-Richard, "Shakespeare's Richard III"_

* * *

><p>The Nal Hutta moons slowly rose behind blood-soaked clouds as twilight passed away to nightfall. Streetlights crackled to life as the last remnants of sunlight were sapped from the streets like water from a desert floor. And thus, the nocturnal inhabitants of the rotting, festering dump emerged from the shadows to begin the games lit by neon signs and burning deathsticks. From the surrounding swamps, billions and billions of reptiles and insects sang their nighttime chorus, a full orchestra of those lesser in size yet greater in number. The air was so cold it stung the chest to breathe.<p>

Rising above the darkened city, a low mechanical roar pierced the night air. It was a sound so familiar to the locals as that of another trespasser or tourist or criminal peer that they paid no notice to the fact that it was strikingly unique. And as the ship landed down, few heads looked up to see who it was. It was so that few were to notice as a hooded figure climbed out of a starfighter which, they had scarcely cared to notice, was a Jedi starfighter. The nocturnal side of Nal Hutta's weather-worn, bloodstained coin neglected to notice.

It was so that few watched the figure stride, carefully and with every sense of dignity and elegance long-forgotten for such a place, until he arrived at the nearest cantina. The place was abandoned save for the most loyal customers who did not mind a bit of dust and wear and lack of entertainment.

Attention began to gather, however, when there was a simple question proceeded by a prompting of light but painful choking on the sleepy bartender.

"Where is the bounty hunter named Cad Bane?" the figure asked.

"I—I don't know..."

"I know you are lying, you disgusting filth."

The last ray of sunlight vanished.

* * *

><p>Elsewhere, a Lethan Twi'lek was hugging a blanket to her chest as she pressed her back against the wall behind her.<p>

"Said I'm sorry, Cad. Won't do it again, I promise, I _promise_," she said for the third time that evening. There were still bruises on her arms from when the group of Weequay's had noticed her wandering up an alley and decided they could have their way with her without facing any consequences.

Bane knew had he not consumed so many shots of whiskey beforehand, those three thugs would have been shot dead in seconds. Instead, in his drunken state, the act had been more of a bit of fun, albeit bittersweet in light of what they were planning to do.

But it didn't matter that she had been trained all those years not to fight back. She still should have known better than to go running off. She should have listened to him and she didn't. Bane could easily think of a dozen scenarios off the bat when Blythe, by not following his orders, could get not just herself but both of them in deep trouble or even killed. As long as he could not trust anyone to look after her, this was fragile business to bring her along until she could look after herself. And one small mistake on her part could spell disaster.

Why couldn't she _understand _something as simple as that.

"What was that you said about not belonging to anyone else?" he growled, tearing the blanket from her arms and throwing it to the floor. "Was that another lie? You know I don't like it when you lie to me."

Blythe's palms dug into the chipped wallpaper, staring up at him just like she had the time she had pretended to read. That was the day he bought her.

"You don't understand, do you, Blythe? If you want to stay alive, you had better do exactly, _exactly _what I tell you to do. You're playing my game, now. My game, my rules. And if you don't stay put next time I tell you to stay put, you're going to get yourself killed, I guarantee it." He paused as he balled his hands into fists. "Well? Understand?"

"Sorry, please? I _promise _never do it again. Just please, please don't hurt me."

Bane relaxed his shoulders. Then he pulled away from her.

_It would be a waste. Until she does it again, anyway._

"No, I'm not going to hurt you," he sighed.

Blythe seemed quite relieved to hear that, and sank down onto the floor. She closed her eyes, her hands running up her arms to feel the bruises.

It was not yet eight o'clock in the evening. After the whiskey's effects had worn off in late afternoon, it had not taken long for the headache to start up again, but for the moment, it was tolerable. Luckily for the both of them, a local motel had still had a couple rooms available so they would not have to bunk down in the hull of the ship again, which equaled to a more restful night before the journey back to the nearest hideout to await future orders. The motel room was small and reeked of its previous guests, but it was secluded from the main traffic and the sheets were clean, so it was enough.

Bane was about to tell her to get some sleep while she could, but before he could he was cut off by a sound from outside. It was a ship landing down right outside of town. A starfighter for sure.

Bane peered out the dingy window the room, trying to see what he could. He knew the sound of the engine. It was a Jedi starfighter. He'd heard that engine before and could recognize it instantly because of its unique, high-pitched whine.

A Jedi starfighter landing right next to the Hutt palace. Certainly a rare occasion not to be taken lightly.

_What the hell is a Jedi doing here?_

He calculated the first most obvious conclusions as well as their chances of accuracy. None of them, according to his history of dealing with Jedi, amounted to much good at all.

From outside, not quite all the way across the street, Bane heard someone scream.

* * *

><p>"He bought—a room—at the motel! Just him and the girl...!"<p>

"I doubt you are absolutely certain of that. What if he is with one more bounty hunters?"

The choking lessened just enough so the bartender could speak more clearly.

"I swear, no one else is with him! That motel right there!" With the strength he had left, he pointed across the street. The Jedi looked back to him and smiled before readjusting the hood covering half his face.

"Thank you. Thank you very much," he said.

* * *

><p>"What are you doing?" Blythe asked. She watched Bane pull on his duster and belt, putting his blasters back in their holsters. Every two seconds he glanced back out the window although there was little to see from there.<p>

"There's a Jedi outside. Looks like he's stirring something up. I'm going to go see what all the trouble is about."

"You have to?"

"No, but I am curious. He doesn't have to notice I'm there."

It was worth a look at the very least. Besides, if the Jedi was here to do negotiations with the Hutts, it could prove to be quite interesting. After all, it was not every day that he got a good look at a Jedi from a distance.

"But, be careful, 'kay? Careful. I think Jedi are dangerous."

But Bane returned her warning with a smirk as he donned his hat.

"Remind me to give you a list of how many Jedi I've killed when I get back."

Once outside, Bane heard ruckus still happening across the street right outside a run-down cantina that seemed almost deserted. Someone was shouting threats while other begged pitifully.

"I should hope you are telling the truth, because I only came for one _sleemo_ on this planet," he was warning the other.

A few bystanders sharing a drink noticed the Duros bounty hunter.

"Bane?" one piped up, then gestured with a half-empty glass toward the ruckus on the other side of the street. "I think there's a Jedi asking for you. Looks kind of bad, like you ticked him off."

_What the hell...?_

A rush of cold confusion ran through Bane's blood. Why would a Jedi be looking for him? Could this be the master of that kid he killed on Coruscant? Jedi _do_ have revenge issues.

"You sure it ain't just for a light chat over a drink?" he asked cynically, hiding his confusion. The last thing he wanted was to show he had been caught off-guard.

"Nope. Can't say that I am. Have fun in the rough-and-tumble," the drinker said coldly.

Bane took a few steps forward into the street, his hands over his holsters, ready to draw at a breath's notice. His muscles were tightened like coiled springs. Meanwhile, the Jedi tightened a Force-hold on the bartender's throat to be sure he was telling the truth. Then, from twenty feet behind him, Cad Bane's voice penetrated the silence coating the street.

"Why don't you pick on someone your own size, Republic scum?"

The Jedi released his grip, and the bartender collapsed to the ground. Bane, his eyes the color of frozen human blood, glared at the Jedi as he turned around and took off his dark robe, revealing his Human face.

"Why, it's you," the Jedi Master cooed. "It's been a long time, hasn't it?"

"Did you miss me?"

"I got behind on my practice, so, yes." The Jedi pulled out and ignited a blue lightsaber. He waved it in a crescent, then aligned it parallel to his outstretched arm.

"You mean you dragged yourself all the way out here just to say Hello? I'll take that as a compliment."

_6...5...4..._

"I have business of my own to do, which currently requires your corpse," said the Jedi Master, waving his blade like a wand. "You can surrender now and save us both some trouble, or you can pick a fight and surrender later."

"Now, now...why would I do a thing like that?"

_3...2—1..._

Bane reached for his belt and tossed out a smoke grenade. The Jedi Master jerked his blade up to deflect it before it landed several feet in front of him. A blast of scentless, green fumes exploded on the street. Then Bane turned and ran. He could hear the Jedi Master choking, swerving his lightsaber through the thick clouds to find a body to hack into. It was killing two rodents with one blast—get the fight out of the streets, plus give the Jedi the idea that this certain bounty hunter was being a coward.

A bit of a jab at Bane's pride? Sure. But a small enough hook any Jedi would swallow and let himself be reeled in by? Oh, yes. He knew how Jedi danced.

The smoke from the grenade was beginning to clear. Bane had already made an extra forty feet between them. The Jedi's bloodshot eyes locked on the figure with the wide-brimmed hat, and he leaped into the air through the Force.

Bane slowed as he approached a line of a dozen or so pirate speeders. He grabbed the handlebars of the nearest one, swung his leg over the seat, and slammed down on the accelerator. The Jedi was thirty feet behind him. A gasp of cold air rushed up his stomach the moment the speeder lurched forward. The taste of the wind stung his eyes. He gripped the handlebars as the town faded behind him and a large swamp spread out over the horizon. He turned his head to see the Jedi double-jump into the next speeder down and hit the accelerator.

_I'll knock him out, then find out what this is all about._

Quickly, he drew out a blaster and fired at the Jedi's speeder. He missed by a couple feet. The Jedi was catching up fast, deflecting the laser bolts. The terrain ahead was only more marsh, swamp, and occasional looming pillars of rock. The Jedi was deathly close by now. Every time Bane took a shot at him, he closed in a little further. Bane made a sharp right turn, missing the edge of a deep swamp by mere inches. The Jedi was so close, he could smell the lightsaber's beam cutting into the air. Any closer and his speeder could take a gash from that—

_Shit! _His speeder nearly tipped over. Bane's right leg grazed against the ground as he swerved the speeder out of a lightsaber swing. He gasped for a gulp of air, inwardly cursing Jedi weapons. Once he regained balance on the speeder, he let his blaster have at it a few more rounds. One of them nicked the wing of the Jedi's speeder. The Jedi looked ready to panic, gazing down at the unwelcoming sheet of fungus, blurred as it raced below like the doorway to Nal Hutta Hell. He sat up straight and re-ignited his lightsaber.

Bane hit down as hard on the accelerator as was possible before he would all but blow the engines.

The lightsaber just missed his leg and the back of the speeder. His hand almost slipped on the handlebar.

_All right, if that's how he's gonna play. Time to bring this to the ground and see what he's really after._

Less than seventy feet ahead, a rock pillar was approaching. Bane leaned to the left side. The Jedi complied and took another slash with his lightsaber. That time, he damaged something important. Bane could feel it the way the speeder cracked underneath him.

His timing couldn't dare to be anything short of perfect.

Bane held out his gauntlet and fired a cable at the pillar. It looped around and fastened faster than the Jedi could see it, as he swung his speeder into the bounty hunter's to finish it off. Then the moment the two speeders, neck-and-neck, raced past the pillar, Bane ignited his boots' jetpack thrusters and bailed out.

His neck snapped as the cable jerked him backwards. His thrusters were the only thing keeping his body from being dragged through the swamp right below him. The cable pulled him in a tight circle around the pillar. He could feel every muscle up his arm and shoulder strain. Then he finally unhooked the cable and his thrusters lifted him up to the top of the pillar. He landed and deactivated them. As he shook the dizziness out of his head, he realized he was lucky his shoulder hadn't been dislocated in that little spin.

The Jedi Master hadn't been so lucky. In his moment of flight Bane hadn't had time to see the two speeders lock on and dive helplessly into the swamp. The Jedi, only then realizing what had happened, leaped into the air just as his speeder went down. He drew out his lightsaber and landed gracefully, like a ballerina, on a clump of dry soil.

Bane fired at the figure thirty feet below on the ground. Again, the blasts were deflected away. Then the Jedi made a jump—a superhuman Force-willed jump—and landed on the opposite side of the pillar. It was about ten feet total in diameter, a dance floor begging for a hard-earned number. Bane shot at him again. One of the blasts came within an inch of hitting his shoulder; he was getting closer.

The Jedi leaped forward and kicked the bounty hunter in the neck. Quickly Bane ignited his thrusters to regain balance, shaking the water out of his eyes.

"You know, you could save me time and simply surrender yourself now," the Jedi remarked.

He almost sighed with exasperation.

"Sorry, Jedi, but I'm not the type to turn down a fun time with the likes of you."

He held out his wrist and shot his cable at the Jedi's lightsaber, just like last time, and gave it hard yank. The Jedi leaped above Bane's head, somersaulting in the air and landing behind him.

Bane, snickering, ignited the lightsaber. It felt so powerful, this incredible lethal light jetting from the object now in his hand. Lightsabers were much better when you were on the other side of one. And yes; it felt good to hold one again. He spun around and slashed the blue beam at the Jedi. In his other hand he held his blaster, which he fired several rounds from. He slashed again. Much closer in yet. Almost there.

Suddenly, it felt as if a brick wall had crashed right into him, shattering every bone in his body in a split second. The Jedi thrust his open palm out, reaching into the Force. Bane shouted in pain as he was thrown down. He felt his back tumble over the edge of the pillar, and Force and gravity alike worked as one. The world turned upside-down, as if underwater, falling to that Nal Hutta Hell. An unseen hand ripped the lightsaber out of his grasp. The swamp opened up below.

His free hand quickly ignited the thrusters, which swung him back up out of the pull. Bane dropped down onto the nearest dry soil patch. He looked up at his opponent, who landed cat-like on the ground about ten feet away. The Jedi held out his open hand and retrieved his lightsaber just before it fell into the swamp. Then he flipped backwards, landing on a dry clump. Excitement flooded into Bane's blood, a familiar feeling, but a good one.

What the Jedi said next made him stop cold.

"The harder a time you give me, the harder time I'm going to give your little whore."

Bane felt himself bristle, but he kept his tone under restraint.

_How could a Jedi Master know about...?_

"What kind of a rotten source did you get that from?" he dared to ask.

It was the Jedi's turn to smirk.

"That is for me to know and for you to find out."

An ugly taste filled Bane's mouth. Was it Ael who told him? Aurra Sing? Or yet someone else?

_No...worry about that later. Focus. Focus._

His red eyes flashed when the clump of soil the Jedi was standing on crumbled to pieces under the weight. Struggling to regain balance, the Jedi stepped back and his left foot slipped into the swamp. It was the moment. It was the chance to break in.

Bane aimed for the lightsaber arm. He fired. The Jedi cried out.

A hit.

He quickly switched the lightsaber to his other hand. Bane stretched out his other arm, preparing his back to handle the cortosis, or 'hell on barrels'. He'd been waiting to use it for far too long.

The Jedi dodged the first blow from the weapon. But the second, a double-strike with extra muscle, hit the ground in front of him and sent him reeling backwards. He landed on his back and slid down into a shallow marsh, half under in seconds.

Bane lowered his hand, fixing his hat. The Jedi, hardly able to move because of the blow, thrashed as he slowly began to sink face-up, struggling to save himself from the horrible fate that awaited him below. Before long, his legs were caught in the thick underwater weeds and his shoulders were barely above the surface. He spat out just enough insect-filled algae to shout out,

"Fuck you, _sleemo_!"

In a moment, Bane was upon him with an old Durosian technique, pinning the Jedi's elbow behind his head. Underneath him, the Jedi was kicking and stirring up all sorts of plants and bugs lying in wait. Putrid bubbles rose to the surface. Bane was so close he could taste the hot Human breath, which quickened in growing panic.

"_Fuck_ you...!"

Slowly, Bane pressed down into the swamp. Keeping one knee on the dry soil and the other on the Jedi's back, the Duros twisted the man's arm back farther and farther until he could feel the shoulder's socket pop out and dislocate. There was a muffled, bubbly scream. The Jedi body squirmed and thrashed desperately, and still, he pressed down harder. Deeper and deeper. Soon his head full of smoothly combed hair was just under the surface.

It was so much fun.

A mouthful of spit, thick with algae, suddenly sprayed his face.

_Human _saliva. Warm...green...disgusting. Nausea boiled up his throat. He had to choke it down. Then, a fist hard as stone snapped into his ribs, then again, and again.

The Jedi, his face half underwater, drew back his hand and struck the Duros bounty hunter in the jaw. As his vision began to go black from lack of oxygen, he reached into the Force for raw strength. When it came, he shot his elbow into the bounty hunter's side with all he had. He heard a grunt of sharp pain as bone was snapped. The Jedi struck his jaw again, refusing to stop kicking. Then, finally, sweet air swelled in his lungs as he rushed back to the surface.

The air was sucked out of Bane's lungs as the third blow to his jaw rolled him off the Jedi's back. Warm, salty blood filled his mouth. One of his ribs was broken for sure.

Behind him, the Jedi jumped to the safety of land and drew out his lightsaber, dripping head to foot in rancid fungus. The warm human saliva oozed down Bane's face, making him tremble with nausea. He rolled to his feet and shot at the Jedi with his blaster. His broken ribs screamed as he backed away, firing repeatedly to keep distance between him and his opponent.

This Jedi was not just looking for an arrest or interrogation. He intended to kill.

Bane slinked back, like a panther, and allowed the Jedi to make a bit of a closing in on him. He ducked to avoid the lightsaber's slash, then ignited his thrusters.

"I have to be going, Jedi. We'll finish this another time. Send my regards."

Many times before, that would have ended the fight right there. It wasn't as if the Jedi didn't have any better things to do than pick fights with as they called scum and villainy. They had a whole goddamn galactic war to worry about. The Jedi, holding his wounded shoulder, would catch his breath and watch his opponent take off, promising himself not to let it happen again. Then he would run along in his starfighter to do some hardcore negotiating the pure Jedi way.

That did not happen to this fight.

Even as this Jedi was struggling to catch his breath and empty his lungs of algae and insect eggs, he jumped into the air with his lightsaber ignited and drawn back, like an axe. Bane backed up, firing again. He clouted the Jedi across the face with his blaster, but he just jumped right back up. Nothing was stopping him.

And he wondered...how did this Jedi know about Blythe?

Something dark and ominous, like a black sun hungrily looming over the horizon, began to suck out the daylight.

_"You know all this just isn't about the Lethan girl. It's about every one of my customers watching and waiting to see if a bounty hunter can take on the Corrino family and their allies," _Orett Solarin had said to him.

A Force-powered fist struck Bane upside the head. He parried the second fist and kicked the Jedi in the solar plexus. The Jedi fell back, succumbing to gravity. Bane's vision blurred as the side of his head pounded. He desperately hoped that blow would not bring the headache back.

He felt the lightsaber swoosh in front of his left leg. The tip cut into his calf, leaving behind a small gash, and then his thruster was gone. Gone?

As soon as that occured to him, the other was gone too.

Goddamn Jedi weapons.

Jedi and bounty hunter, punching and kicking in a lethal gravity-controlled ballet, tumbled and crashed onto the unwelcoming ground. A pile of rocks from the nearby pillar was waiting for them. This time, it was the Jedi with his Force-eased landing who was the luckier one.

Bane chomped down on the inside of his mouth when the rocks below hacked into his spine and shoulders. The pain was sudden, firm, and excruciating. Much worse than what the Jedi did to him.

He tried to move. Could he move? He couldn't _move_.

_Dammit! C'mon, get up. Get up!_ The second he grabbed one of the rocks to drag himself up, white-hot daggers stabbed him down to the bone. His thrusters were gone, the blaster kicked out of his hand. The Jedi lay about ten feet away, red blood dribbling from his nose, mouth, and left ear.

"What's the matter, Bane? Can't take a hit?"

_Don't think about it. You gotta get up...oh, _god_, it fucking hurts!_

The Jedi was getting up. He was igniting his lightsaber. He was coming closer, limping, staggering, and stumbling, but closer.

Bane lifted his head and spat out a mouthful of dark green blood. His jaw was on fire. His mouth was still bleeding.

"_Fucking _dammit," he snarled, and he rolled off the crushing boulder that had splintered his back. He pulled out his remaining blaster. The hidden third one would have to come in handy another time. He didn't want to think about what kind of damage that fall had done to his back.

The Jedi held out his lightsaber.

"What did I do?" Bane snapped at him. "Was it the kid in the shipping yard who couldn't fight to save his life? Or maybe you had an affair with Gasta Corrino?"

"Oh. You don't know. I thought you did," the Jedi Master replied. He spat out specks of pond scum between his front teeth, wincing as he straightend up.

"Know what? That you wanted to kill Solarin, too?"

"_No_," he said blankly. "That we made an agreement. I thought you knew about that. Lots of folks know about that."

"Agreement..." The word tasted funny. Like approaching death. Bane dug his boot into the soil and pushed himself to his feet, grimacing to bite back the pain.

"It was a simple enough deal," the Jedi went on. "We dig Solarin out of his little trouble holes and protect him from personified threats...we get his servies dirt-cheap."

In spite of himself, Bane felt his body give a shudder. His blood went ice-cold for a moment. So that little brat _had _been a Padawan. He had been right the whole time. The Jedi Knights, those warriors he had always somewhere deep down admired for their integrity, nobility and in some way being _different_...they were no different at all. Everything he had respected them for had merely been to whitewash the truth.

The truth that were one of the allies Solarin had talked about. They were just like everyone else they executed or arrested in the name of their Order. And that in truth, they were no better than anyone in Happyface or Nal Hutta, guilty of the same crimes, bred of the same substance. What he had thought stood above them was truly their equal.

No. They were worse. Because they claimed to be better with all their nonsense about being better because they are at one with another so-called realm of reality known as the Force. They justified it by holding a lightsaber in the other hand. They taught themselves how to hide those wrongs behind a noble reputation.

Everything he had believed about the Jedi Order was a lie. And that had been one of the few things he thought would never change.

The Jedi Master must have seen something in Cad Bane's expression, because he arched his eyebrows and leaned his head back as if a recent comment had set him off.

"You look surprised," he said simply. And then he added, "Of course, I was a bit surprised too when I heard you were dragging along one of Solarin's."

Cad Bane looked up. His arm trembled as he slowly raised his blaster. He did not know that the same rage he inflicted on Ael was about to burn Human flesh. But there was one thing he did know. That this wasn't just a rough-and-tumble. He had never fought a Jedi like this before.

Only one of them was going to leave this fight alive.

* * *

><p><em>Revision Note:<em>

_Cleaned up the scene with Cad Bane and Blythe a little bit so it would flow better. Also took out a couple things that were bogging down the chapter. Other than that, there wasn't much else to do. This was probably one of my favorite chapters to write because of the fight scene. They're really hard to write but also really fun. It takes a lot of planning, almost like writing out a blueprint or choreographing a dance. If I ever make it look easy, trust me, it's not!_


	12. Jedi vs Bounty Hunter - Part 2

_"Space Bound"_

_Chapter Twelve: Jedi vs. Bounty Hunter - Part Two_

* * *

><p><em>"I go, and it is done; the bell invites me.<br>Hear it not, Duncan, for it is a knell  
>That summons thee to heaven or to hell."<em>

_-Macbeth, Shakespeare's "Macbeth"  
><em>

_.  
><em>

_"__And I'm going down, all the way down_  
><em>I'm on the highway to hell"<em>

_-AC/DC, "Highway to Hell"_

* * *

><p>The Jedi Master stepped forward, raising his weapon.<p>

"In my opinion," he said, "your dead corpse is worth three to four underages for me."

Then the pain was gone. In the heat of the moment, vanished.

"You're disgusting."

The Jedi took a daring swing. Bane leaped to the side inches from being decapitated. His mind raced as he lifted his blaster and quickly aimed for the lightsaber hand. The Jedi, seeming slightly winded from the fall, was still getting his bearings back. Time stood still for one breath, taking aim. Then he fired.

Luck! The bolt knocked the lightsaber right from the Jedi's fingers. The Jedi Master cursed and scrambled to retrieve the weapon as it fell over his shoulder. Too late to use the Force. By then, it had already sank into a deep spot in the swamp, leaving behind a few small bubbles on the surface.

Cad Bane let out a cold, dark chuckle, revealing a row of sharp yellow teeth.

"You put too much trust in that little sword of yours."

Oh, he had always wanted to fight a Jedi hand-to-hand, instead of all this dancing.

The Jedi cursed again. Foaming at the mouth, he spun and kicked in a blur with a speed and strength powered by the Force. Bane backed away, but he took a heavy blow to the ribs. He heard a crunching sound from his ribcage. He mentally chased away the pain.

The second kick pounded the side of his head. The sudden shock turned his stomach to stone. There was no time to breathe, or make a move of defense, only to hope the attacker would hesitate long enough to slip aside. But by then, it was too late. The headache had come back and dyed the world in dizzying red. Bane whirled around and blindly fired his blaster, nicking the Jedi's left leg.

Everything in him screamed to get out of there for his life. A full choir of high-pitched sirens, and this specific opponent reeked of danger. As he braced himself for the next onslaught, calculating alternatives for a passive-aggressive move, Bane noticed a very familiar gesture. The Jedi was opening up his hands, eyes narrowed, reaching out into the Force with full level of concentration. Bane's finger slid over a button about to launch a cable on his gauntlet. Then the Jedi leaped back.

"You put too much trust in your weak instincts," he said, holding out his palm.

Bane only had enough time to turn before one of the rocks propelled by that invisible ghost was driven into his side, cracking yet another rib. A sound like that of metal-on-metal shot through him. He tried raising his blaster but it had suddenly gained twenty pounds.

_Dammit. Not getting anywhere with this._

"Oh, no, you don't." A Force-powered kick split his skull in two. He fired at the moving figure in front of him as the headache swelled.

Bane felt himself go down to the ground. His spine felt as if it had been snapped in two, like a twig. He tried to breathe. The headache's swelling made nearby objects appear swollen and twice as large, as the foreground muddied like rain on wet paint.

The Jedi stepped forward, reenergized. Bane heard a loud shout but didn't know where it came from. The next thing he saw was the ground pressed against his side. The next thing he heard was the Jedi Master's voice followed by something crunching. Jolts of electricity set his arm on fire.

He looked up. His left gauntlet had been smashed to pieces through the Force. A second later, his hand went completely numb.

_Karking shit. Now I've only got one good arm. _Bane tried squeezing the blaster to get the life back in his fingers, but the weapon was slipping. No, instead, it had already slipped. It was on the ground. The Jedi kicked it into the swamp as if to confirm the fact that it was truly hand-to-hand now, that they were even, and it was all down to who could stay standing the longest.

"Let this be the end of it," The Jedi said simply, and his tone suggested he wished he would have been able to say that a long time ago, before he got covered in mud and filth.

Bane clenched his jaw. In one breath, he rolled over on his back and saw the Jedi standing over him with one open, raised hand. Tucking in his bad arm, he forced it to land on a button atop his remaining gauntlet.

Milliseconds later, a thick acid spray spewed into the air, and the Jedi took the majority of it in the face. He lifted his arm to prevent anything further than minor damage, yet the distraction was enough for Bane to drive a sharp kick into his chest and push himself back up. Gasping, the Jedi dabbed at his eyes, which had gone horribly bloodshot and oozing pus in the corners. His lips and cheeks had also begun to swell to some extent.

"You'll have to do better than that, Jedi."

The two closed in on each other for the final duet.

He had to do it, Bane decided. Better now than later wishing he had. So he had finally been driven to his last, and riskiest, resort. This one had been used even less than the cortosis.

But this is what you should expect to happen when a waltz becomes a tango.

Bane held out his wrist and, forcing his bad arm to land on top, activated the flamethrower. This time, he knew where the loud shout was coming from.

All in front of him exploded in brilliant flame. A sun on earth, sudden, unbearable. The sun roared in demand to devour and to swallow. Instantly, the taste of smoke filled his mouth and he felt as if he was burning, even though he wasn't. He had never used this weapon in such dangerously close range. None of it helped the headache. It was getting worse by the second.

The Jedi had jumped backwards two seconds too late. By the time he got out of the way of the flamethrower's path, fire had engulfed almost all of his robe. As white-hot, hissing flames continued to flood from Cad Bane's gauntlet, so did screams of agony from the Jedi's blistered, swollen mouth. He shielded his face with his burning sleeves. The fire spread on his flesh and his broken back hit the ground, and he rolled about screaming in such a way that made him sound like an animal with no humane qualities. And he must have had just enough thought and energy to get up and collapse into the nearest pool of dark, soupy swamp, which in an instant had turned into a horrible dread into a life-saving paradise. The sun roared with delight.

Bane shut off the flamethrower. The reek of burnt Human hair and flesh choked the air, and heat made the ground tremble It was all Bane could do to stay standing. White-hot metal rods were stabbing him all the way from his legs to his shoulders. He had to stay up, he told himself.

An arm, charred and blackened, rose from the swamp and clutched at the spongy ground. Then a face appeared, and Bane grinned to himself, for it was a ruined face. Burned, blackened flesh hung from his nose, cheeks, and chin. Pus was already beginning to ooze from the tender red marks. One eyelid was half-gone, and one ear was completely black. The combination of so many devastating burns on top of the acid still working its way through his skin, in addition to the filth of the swamp...it had to be beyond excruciating.

But he wasn't making a sound. Not one cry of pain. The Jedi was as silent as a sleeping baby.

_Must be using the Force to ease his suffering_, Bane speculated. _Cheater_.

A chill of excitement surged inside the Duros bounty hunter. A twisted smile began to spread on his face as the exhileration at last caught up with him, and it delayed thoughts of pain for a moment longer. He had not killed a Jedi in a long time. And he wanted to. He wanted to kill the one who knew Blythe's name.

"How does it feel to be the one burning?" he snarled, preparing to use the flamethrower again. Had he the strength, he would have gladly beat his deep fried opponent to death, but most of what he could do at the moment was stay standing. He supposed it would have to wait for another time in the future.

The headache was getting worse, and still messing with his surroundings.

And that pounding in his head was the death of him.

Bane heard the hum of the newly recovered lightsaber far too late.

The Jedi's scorched, disfigured face flashed in front of Bane's as he rose from the swamp. A blue beam transformed into a small glowing circle, and it ran for him. Bane quickly tried to ignite the flamethrower. But the moment of defense had passed.

An ice dagger stabbed his left side.

Bane backed away, shuddering. It was so cold. Freezing. Made his legs go numb, made his teeth chatter. His vision turned ice-blue, like a sudden snowstorm had hit. Was he still backing away? He couldn't know for sure.

And then the ice turned to the same fire that had only moments earlier been his best ally. It choked his throat, and his whole side was opened, burning. The sun had turned and hit him in the form of a white-hot knife. The blue blade drew back in front of him as it seemed to hum with satisfaction at the work it had accomplished.

It was something Cad Bane had never known. To be killed by a lightsaber.

He felt his knees give out and he sunk to the ground.

_So this is it, _he thought. _I'm going to die._

And, strangely enough, he began thinking about of all things, his little red girl. _mesh'la_. Blythe. He saw her lying across from him wrapped in a cold sheet. Tears were streaming down her face as she said his name. She was freezing.

What—what would happen to her if he never came back for her?

Blythe.

He dared look down at the wound.

_Breathe. Breathe. Force...it hurts like a son of a bitch._

Wait. He should be dead by now. Jedi kills were always quick and clean. His body wasn't going cold on him yet.

Maybe he wasn't dying. Maybe he was okay for now.

The Jedi stood a few paces away, waiting to see what kind of damage he had done to the bounty hunter. The Nal Hutta swamp was dead silent.

Bane suddenly tasted a new, brutal idea.

"Well, it looks like you've won," he said quietly.

The Jedi Master, shaking and dripping with scummy water and charred flesh, stood up straight and dropped his lightsaber arm at his side. Using the Force to numb down the pain must not be such an easy job; it made one wonder.

_He has to know you're dying, _Bane told himself._ Just pretend you're Kel Corrino or the little Padawan brat. Shot in the stomach. Pretend this is it. _Then he grimaced and gently laid his right hand over the wound.

"Like I've always said to myself," the Jedi replied, "a blaster is not the elegant weapon a lightsaber is."

"Tell me something," Bane asked, "how many Jedi from your Order are in on that little agreement? Can't hurt to know, now, can it?"

"How—how? How _many_?" The Jedi appeared perplexed, perhaps even taken aback by the question. Sometimes folks asked odd questions and said odd things as they were dying; it was worth a shot. "I...I honestly don't know. It's not something we discuss publicly. A few. Maybe more. What does it matter to the likes of you?"

_That's right. What does it matter? Jedi business ain't your business._

But it _was _his business. Orett Solarin had ruined Blythe in the same industry the Jedi were cashing in on. Blythe belonged to him. Thus...they were partially to blame for the damage that could not be undone.

"It don't. I just wonder who or what put her name in your head."

His killer paused and took a slow, cautious step forward.

"I assume you haven't heard of it, then."

"Fucking heard of what?" He'd heard enough for one day already.

"Why, the...the bounty issued out by Broxin."

Bane felt trembles overtake his body. He thought he would retch.

"The bounty on who?"

"Why, on _you_, Bane. You and the girl." When Bane didn't respond, the Jedi went on. "Broxin issued out a bounty on you just yesterday morning. He told us at least somebody has to die in thi'. That's what he said."

Odd. Bane had said those same words to Solarin just weeks ago.

"I couldn't accept it, though," the Jedi continued. "I am not supposed to let anyone else know I take bribes. So, a few characters looking for a bounty to cash in on won't like it when they find out I did this job for them. Besides, I would hate to do work with dirty scum like your fellow mercenaries; it just wouldn't be right."

"You couldn't have had better timing, then." Bane cringed, lowered his head, and sunk deeper into the ground.

Why this bounty? Was it to preserve the industry's pride, so one bounty hunter couldn't take them down and leave them sick and humiliated?

_"You know all this just isn't about the Lethan girl. It's about every one of my customers watching and waiting to see if a bounty hunter can take on the Corrino family and their allies."_

"I'm sorry you didn't end this earlier. You could have saved me a couple hours in the bacta tank," said the Jedi.

Then the moment came. The Jedi Master raised his lightsaber to end it. Bane coughed. Blood was all over his face. His side felt like it had been burned down to the bone. His shoulder shook as he raised a broken, blood-soaked hand.

"Wait." Bane could scarcely hear his own voice. "Before you...finish the job...can I ask a small favor?" He stared down at the ground, refusing to look into the eyes of this Jedi Master.

"Yes. What is it?" His voice seemed calm, even patient. Perhaps he found this final request amusing.

Bane's good hand slowly slipped into his coat.

"Can you..." he coughed painfully and closed his eyes, "can you t-tell—_tell_..."

His voice faded. His hand brushed over the barrel. The Jedi lowered the lightsaber and leaned in closer. Bane could smell his breath. His finger wrapped around the trigger.

"Yes. What do you want me to tell?"

"Can you tell..."

Bane's eyes shot open. He pulled back. He yanked the hidden blaster out of his coat with all he had.

The Jedi didn't see it coming. He couldn't. He didn't have time to blink. All there was time to do was gasp as a bolt burned a hole through his stomach and another through his neck. The sound of blasts stabbed the dead silent air. His body, shocked, didn't know how to respond. It hung there, as if suspended from a string like a marionette. He let out a small wheeze and his knees made a crackling sound.

Bane shot a third bolt right into his heart. Then, despite the disgust of it, he leaned in close to the marionette's face and murmured,

"Tell my mother hello for me."

Then the string was snipped, and the Human fell.

Bane paused, not realizing he was still standing. He almost could not grasp the fact that it was over. Finally over. He had killed a Jedi.

_But there's a bounty on your head._

Some thugs not too far away were coming along in his direction. They had probably heard the airspeeders crash or had seen the smoke, and were looking for scrap metal. Bane cradled the blaster. His top priority now had become to leave Nal Hutta before word got around too fast. He had to get out of here.

_They _had to get out of here.

* * *

><p>"Hey? What happened? You look like you could use some help."<p>

Bane couldn't believe his luck that these two should show up. Show up, that is, on a speeder that was still in working condition. Now he would not have to walk back.

"Look. It was just a crash. He died of his injuries about two minutes ago," he lied, concealing his remaining weapon as the two climbed off their speeder and approached the scene.

"You don't mind if we salvage what's left, do you...hey, I think that's a Jedi you just killed."

"What makes you thinkI killed him?"

Before the two thugs could speak another word, Bane drew his weapon. They had already seen too much; he had no choice. Besides, he was fed up. Luckily for Bane he was able to take them both by surprise, and shot both of them before they were able to rush to defend themselves. Then he grabbed his hat and got on the speeder.

If odds were on his side, the scene left behind in the Nal Hutta swamp—three rotting, purple bodies, one of which was a badly burned and bruised Jedi Master—would, when found, exclude himself from the equation of what had happened. It was a high gamle to play. But there was no time to mull over the littlest details.

Any familiar face would have been a breath of fresh air, but even that was too much to ask for when he arrived back at the outskirts of town. The fellow renting out the speeders apparently had been killed by the Jedi Master, and lay in front of his collection with a black gash across his neck. The first thing he noticed was how strangely deserted everything was, and it was not even that late at night. The bar where he had spotted the Jedi was empty. The streets were barren. All had fallen silent. It was like a ghost town.

Where the hell _was_ everybody?

He almost didn't want the answer when he found it. A group of Gamorrean guards no more than seven or eight in number were slowly coming around the bend, armed with axes and electrocuting staffs. It was clear why.

_Hutts already know about Broxin's little bounty._

All the more reason they had to leave the planet as soon as possible.

As Bane took slow, painful steps towards the motel, he was tempted to curse under his breath. Cold night air chilled his lungs. He could not think about it. He was not going to think about it. But every time he so much as shifted his weight he could feel that the lightsaber wound had penetrated deep, and had done the most damage.

He hoped he would make it.

_Damn you, Broxin..._

He kicked open the door to the motel room and shouted for Blythe to come. Then, once it occurred to him that there was the possibility she wandered off to find him a second time, he made his way inside to look for her. If that was the case, they were in a lot of trouble.

Even then, he felt a small sense of relief when Blythe got up from sitting curled up in the corner of the room. One less thing to worry about.

_You can make it._

_Soon as you do, Broxin is sworn in dead meat._

"Come on Blythe, we're checking out."

"You kill a Jedi? Jedi told me no one kills a Jedi," she said quietly.

"I said _come on_. Start walking." Bane knew he said it harshly enough to startle her into following orders, which was exactly what he needed. As Blythe stood up, he grabbed her with his free hand and pulled her along. By now, if the Hutts were in on the bounty as well, it was most likely down to how many minutes they had left before it was too late. Possibly seconds.

He noticed Blythe staring down at her arm, but it never occurred to him that she was staring at the streaks of blood from his hand. Instead, Bane's focus was on the Gamorrean guards less than thirty feet now from the motel. It was only a matter of time before they would be surrounded. When that happened, they wouldn't stand a chance. The only question would be who lasted longer inside the palace.

Bane let go of her arm and pulled out a thermal detonator from his belt. In his other hand he held on to the blaster as his only remaining weapon. He heard Blythe make a small sobbing sound, and he pushed her along in front of him.

"Keep going. Now don't you stop," he said.

_Maybe we won't make it._

Maybe the wounds were worse than he thought they were. He only had a few hours left. And Blythe? Who knows what would happen to her?

* * *

><p>And as he distanced himself and Blythe from the street as fast as both of them were capable of, a sound gurgled in his throat. It came out choppy and scratched and rusty from his mouth after he had spat out more blood on the ground.<p>

Blythe felt herself tremble a bit. She realized what must have happened while he was away; it had to have been the Jedi who did it, because it was hard to kill a Jedi. She kept her eyes on the ground and refused to look up. She never liked the sight of blood or open wounds, especially if it was a person she knew.

Why was he laughing?

But she knew the answer, for she laughed often, and she had a hard time stopping, too.

As the guards turned around the corner, seconds from spotting the pair crossing the emptied street, Bane threw the object over his shoulder in their direction. His bad arm shook with shocks from the destroyed gauntlet, but he wrapped it around Blythe to get her walking faster. The laughter made his broken ribs scream in pain.

An explosion rattled the dead street, shaking the silent night. A chunk of the motel was blown off. Debris was tossed into the air. Fire rattled the cool night air. The Gamorrean guards would never see the pair. Rather, they would merely see a cloud of smoke from the grenade clogging up the air, flames swallowed by the oxygen, and a pair drunken souls who had been unfortunate enought to be hiding nearby, lying dead, in a puddle of booze, their bodies riddled with shrapnel.

At that moment, panic broke loose on the streets. Sleepy bodies rushed outside to see what was happening. Several alarms started ringing, piercing the last of the dreams. The guards ran, but it was too late. The moment of opportunity had slipped past by a thread.

At the docking ramp, a worker who had been refueling _Sleight of Hand _at a cautious, slow pace stopped to look up at the explosion. Bane wiped blood out of his eyes and could finally choke down the laughing as he approached the worker. Fucking hell, that hurt even more.

"Get the ship ready and step aside," Bane ordered the worker.

"Holy stars, did you see that explosion?" The young man was shaking.

Creases appeared on Bane's forehead.

"I said shut up and get the ship ready. You'd better not have to hear it again."

Blythe shut her eyes for a moment, listening to his rattling voice dance and tremble in his chest. Still, she refused to look up at him and see what had been done. Something in her that could was not there yet; it just was not ready. His fingers dug into her bare arm so hard it started to bruise. She began to feel a horrible, warm and wet sensation on her shoulder, and when she looked down at herself, saw that it was blood, and it was getting all over her clothes. She let out a gasp because she thought she was bleeding. Maybe she got hurt in that explosion and didn't know it. Then she realized it wasn't hers; it was _his_ blood.

Fuck Jedi. They did something awful to him.

But it did not make sense. If he was hurt that bad, why didn't he leave her behind? Isn't that what was supposed to happen as soon as something like this happened? Why he wasn't he letting go of her? Or, perhaps, he had not let go just yet.

Blythe didn't know what to do. Perhaps she should just stay quiet.

"What if the explosion was from _them_?" the worker babbled. His eyes were wide and his young knees seemed to be shaking slightly.

"I said shut up and step aside," Bane snapped. There was anger in his voice. Impatience.

Blythe bit her lip. She couldn't stand it. Being covered in someone else's blood. She _couldn't_.

"The CIS. They could have set that bomb. They could be here. Why? I don't know why. To round up traitors or hunt down someone hiding out here, maybe, who knows?"

"What the hell you talking about?"

"The news. The fresh news. It's what the CIS did; they finally did it after three years. You mean, you didn't hear?"

"I don't care about any news."

"Why, the news of what's just happened," the worker stammered. And Blythe barely understood what he said next. "It was on Coruscant...you didn't hear? Chancellor Palpatine was kidnapped, not even an hour ago."

* * *

><p><em>Revision Note:<em>

_Just a little polishing up for this chapter, and hopefully added a tad more suspense to the "escape" scene of the chapter. Also made the switch between Cad Bane and Blythe's POV's a little less muddled._

_Revenge of the Sith is upon us! *cues evil laugh*_


	13. Fragile Bloodstains

_"Space Bound"_

_Chapter Thirteen: Fragile Bloodstains_

* * *

><p><em>"Try to ride out the storm<em>  
><em>Whilst they'll make you believe that they are the special ones<em>  
><em>We have not been chosen<em>  
><em>Injustice is the norm<em>  
><em>You won't be the first<em>  
><em>And you know you won't be the last."<em>

_-Muse, "Unnatural Selection"_

* * *

><p>Cad Bane hardened his gaze to hide the chill that had shivered down his spine.<p>

So, Count Dooku had done it this time; he had succeeded in his goal. Good for him. The Republic would do whatever it took to get their beloved Chancellor back. If they went so far as to get through both Dooku and General Grievous, the war would end much sooner. That would be quite a day to get drunk on Thuris Stout, and rethink many a strategy.

With his one good arm, Bane bashed the babbling worker across the face, who stumbled and fell to the ground clutching at his bleeding mouth.

"When I say get the ship ready, either do it or get the hell out of my way," Bane snapped.

Second nature had to do the job, more or less of what Bane could not see. As the seconds piled on, his focus narrowed down to the absolute essentials. It was essential. The docking ramp shut behind him. The hatches closed. The cockpit opened. He could not think about any of it. If he dared to start thinking, he would collapse. No. A blank slate, a clear head. Just don't think. Screams echoed outside from the aftermath of the explosion, but he had neither the need nor the willpower to listen to them. Heat from the explosion sucked the oxygen out of the barely breathable air. He knew not to sense it. There was a fear he refused to feel, a stench of smoke and death he did not inhale. All that existed was instinct, one step to the next, and to keep moving.

Strange to think of it. Who isn't after him, now? The Corrino's, Dio's, Jedi—and anyone who would receive more profit from accepting either bounty than not. And who knew how many fit into that category. With a bounty on his head from someone holding as much influence as Garr Broxin, going anywhere public or on the well-worn path would be like walking across a minefield. One step short of suicidal.

Even if Broxin's bounty was less than a hundred grand, Bane knew plenty of desperate folks who would kill their own mothers for that kind of money. Many were from Happyface.

No. He had to stop thinking about that. It wasn't entirely bad. Not entirely bad to have a high price on your head, everyone interested in your corpse.

After all, that's what keeps the game going.

_Sleight of Hand _jumped into hyperspace at last, after a mishap in the calculations. Nal Hutta was behind them. So were the screams and the heat and what was left of the dead Jedi Master. Good riddance.

That is when it really began to hurt.

The lightsaber wound brought on a fresh wave of agony, like red-hot knives in his bloodstream. He gasped and lowered his head, feeling the color drain slightly from his eyes. It was the worst pain he had ever felt in his life—at least, in that moment, that is exactly what he told himself. Each passing second told him he was going to die right there for certain, it was so bad.

_Dammit...damn Jedi..._

Bane felt his legs give out and he collapsed into the pilot's seat. He felt lightheaded, as if from lack of oxygen. Then he decided, he was just wasting time sitting there and feeling sorry for himself. Now that the ship was in hyperspace, he had no choice but to bite down and examine the damage done to him in the duel.

It did not take long to discover that he had indeed cracked at least one rib, possibly two. Several pieces of shrapnel from the shattered gauntlet were stuck in his arm, and they were not going to come out so easily. Other than the multiple cuts and bruises, there was no real severe damage. The lightsaber wound was another matter, however. He dreaded seeing it for himself.

Bane did something he never would have thought himself to do even in a strikingly similar situation. He called out to her. When he spoke, he found that his voice shook.

"F-find a medpack, _mesh'la_."

He didn't truly expected her to come. As if she must be feeling on top of herself as well. In her condition she could easily be sick or exhausted or both, that is if she had not been keeping up with her medicine intake. If that was the case he would have to do it on his own. Could he even move?

That was why he was almost startled to see her standing in the doorway to the cockpit, holding the medpack under one arm. At first, it was as if she could not move, either. Her eyes were wide, her lower lip bobbing up and down. Sweat beaded her forehead, her neck, her lekku. And if he was not imagining things, her hands were shaking as well. Wordlessly, Blythe sat down in the co-pilot's seat and began emptying the medpack. He didn't move an inch in the chair, almost too concerned about what would happen if he did.

The shouting, the blast, the running—it must have scared Blythe half to death.

All well. Couldn't blame her.

He tried grabbing her left wrist, but two of them appeared.

"What are you doing?" he asked quietly.

"What Bane Cad told me to." She ripped out a bacta strip.

Bane cringed and pulled his bad arm into his lap, knowing what was about to come. Blythe took something out of the medpack and placed a cold, metallic object in his open hand. As he glanced down he noticed they were medic's scissors, clean and reflecting the lights of the cockpit ceiling. The tips were razor-sharp, never before used. They gleamed like frosted glass. A twang of apprehension tingled through him.

_Get it over with. No way around it._

He gripped the scissors and pinched the largest gauntlet shrapnel, which was in his forearm about five inches from the wrist. The first tug at it didn't respond with so much as a budge, but he felt the slightest touch all the way to his shoulder. Just by a glance one could tell it had gone in deep, close to penetrating the bone. Bane bit his tongue hard, starting to feel sick. He knew what he had to do, but he had never done it before. Forcing himself not to hesitate, Bane dug the tip of the scissors into his flesh. Instantly blood spurted out and trickled down the sides. Blythe gasped. As Bane dug the blades in deeper, carving alongside the shrapnel, he heard a muffled crunching sound which made him bite down on his tongue even harder. He would have given anything to look away. Nausa tempted the pit of his stomach.

Finally, it was over. The shrapnel only hung on by an inch and he was able to pull it out with the now blood-soaked scissors. Bane threw away the piece, choking down the sudden sickness. Blythe inched closer to him and made a gesture, to which he let her gently touch the torn flesh. When she placed the bacta strip on top, he let out a groan of sudden pleasure. The instant pain relief bacta strips provided never ceased to give him some sort of small comfort.

"Find a drug in there that will make this easier," he muttered to her, grimacing, but with a small grin as if to cheer her up.

One down, about a dozen to go.

Luckily, only three or four other pieces were of as much difficulty as the first. The rest came out after he gave them a good tug or a small twist. He was fortunate enough that the drugs Blythe found for him numbed the pain to a dull ache, for the most part anyway. The duration the warm, sticky scissors were in his hand seemed to stretch for hours and hours, in a realm outside of time, just like being in that Republican cell.

By the time he had pulled out the last piece, the towel Blythe had been using to dab at the cuts was dripping. She placed on one last bacta strip before taking out another and putting it on the side of his face. Bane wasn't sure why it needed to be there, but on the other hand, perhaps he didn't want to be.

He dropped the scissors on the floor and swallowed two more pills to kill the remainder of the pain. Now he just felt drunk on the stuff. No, _hungover _described the sensation with much better accuracy.

"I hope you weren't teaching this to yourself while I wasn't looking," he muttered as she put the towel aside. Although he was only half kidding, Bane had been unable to resist the subtle but clear warning that Blythe did not dare try to do anything _on her own _for now, as she had done on Nal Hutta, and especially what with the condition he was now faced with. Medication now. Independence, in due time.

She paused at the remark. But, surprisingly, she responded.

"One time," she said, "this other girl Orett had. Really little, petite thing. Her customers always gave her bad time, so I had to clean her up once a week, about. Lost all the cuteness on her face 'cause they liked to cut her up. One day, Orett pull me aside, and wanted me to kill her kid 'cause she got pregnant with it." Her voice trailed for a moment. "But thing is, I...the baby was already dead. Girl was so sick, kid wouldn't make it much longer anyway."

"You didn't seem to remember that before," he said coldly, as if analyzing her. The effect, however, was lost as his voice choked on the last word.

She put a strip on his leg where the lightsaber had made a small gash, never making eye contact with him. As if she were afraid of it.

"Don't know, Bane Cad. It's just. Just...I think, I can start to remember." She scratched at the medpack harder and faster until she might have bent her fingernails back. "I. I _remember _things. Kind of, a little."

So her condition possibly wasn't all that permanent after all. Was Blythe improving, then? Had she been overdosing on some mind-numbing drug provided by Orett Solarin, which was now just starting to wear off? And, what exactly was she remembering?

Blythe turned away. Then her hand slipped over the lightsaber wound, her fingers briefly pressed against the second and third-degree burns. The sudden wave of blinding whiteness nearly knocked Bane out cold.

When he could speak again, he snarled, "_Fuck it_, Blythe. Don't do that."

"That hurt?"

"No shit, that damn-well hurt, you st-stupid..." he never finished it.

"I'm sorry. Really, really sorry." This time, her hands were slower, more gentle. She grabbed the edge of his coat and pulled back. Then Bane dared look down at the wound. Damn, it looked bad. His side had been scorched to charred black, from which pus was beginning to ooze. Torn, dead flesh hung by threads from the darkened gash.

_I hate lightsabers, _Bane thought with a grimace, looking away.

Blythe pulled out a long bacta strip and placed it on top, sealing the edges with her fingertips.

"Don't know if that help, but can't really think much else..."

She stopped. Her lips were pursed. Like she thought she had said a bad word.

"Keep talking, Blythe. It's a good distraction."

"What you want me, say?"

"Hell, anything. What you like to do. What you like to wear. Your favorite flavors. What else you remember."

Blythe curled up beside him and wiped a small trickle of blood from the side of his face, licking her fingers afterwards. He wrapped his fingers around her wrist, but he didn't stop her. She began taking deep breaths. Seemingly trying to put something into words. Thinking of anything to say. At last, she did. And it was as if she was pulling them out from a place buried deep inside, a place never touched nor allowed to be seen or heard of, and nearly lost and long-forgotten.

"That girl I tell you 'bout? We called her Numa. Orett said Numa's cute. I think he liked her. That why she's always getting hurt on the job. Got initiated by him, too, Orett did. Then one day she tried getting into a hospital for it...but she couldn't."

Another long pause. He squeezed her wrist to get her talking again.

"They won't let her in 'cause...well, we just, we jus' property. Property don't get no say in nothing at all. Not even dolls or decorations. Just...old property."

"That's enough. No more remembering." He didn't care for any sentimentality. At least, not in the mood he was in right now. It wouldn't particularly help.

"Can't help but ain't remember nothing, Cad." And for the first time in a while, Blythe cracked a smile. It was forced, and her bottom lip still trembled a bit. But for one moment, she looked like she didn't care about the place they were in or the stars on fire around them or the impending danger settling in. She just, didn't care. Or didn't appear to care.

The instant her smile disappeared, Bane said,

"No, do that again. Makes you look like a million creds."

Then he sighed and the lights began to flicker out, courtesy of one too many pills.

* * *

><p>"What in the name of..." Embo muttered, glancing outside.<p>

"What in the name of what?" Aurra Sing gave her rifle another sweep with the polishing rag, but it still looked like crap. She grinded her teeth and looked up at the bounty hunter seated across from her, who was still staring out the window to his right with his cold, amber eyes.

"What in the name of the Force has the Hutts so excited this early morning."

"You mean you didn't hear it yet?"

"I'm assuming I didn't, so I'll say No."

"Well, start assuming it's interesting news." Sing cracked a seductive smile, lowering her gaze.

Embo looked away. He wasn't so easily wooed. Women only made him annoyed, or shy, or a strange mixture of both.

"I'm ready now. What's got the Hutts excited?" he asked coolly.

"Garr Broxin let out a bounty for Cad Bane."

"And you're assuming I should care? I have the Republic and the Dio family mad at _me_. No one cares about that."

"We're talking half a million credits, pal."

"So, it's a lot. Why should we bother?" He turned away and fiddled with his half-empty glass.

"Hard times for all of us mercenaries. Everyone knows how the war is going to end. When it does, that'll cancel out a lot of our best clients in the CIS. I won't be passing up any chances."

"Bane has allies. He has clients. I have my doubts that he's just another desperate character starving for money and tallies. I've never thought of him in that way."

"Sure, Embo." Sing put down the rifle and tossed the polishing rag to the sandy floor. "Well, let's assume you're right. Everybody relaxes. We're all in it for the fun of it like a bunch of younglings taking their first round of alcohol. We don't have to say anything or do anything. The galaxy's right at our feet. We kill because we can and because it's fun, and we do it with death-sticks hanging out of our cum-filled mouths. Now, think about it. Does that really add up with the reality of the situation? Embo, darling..."

He remained silent as she leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs at the ankle. This time, he was definitely more annoyed than shy.

"Embo, darling," she repeated, "the war's nearly over. It's only a matter of time. Things are about to change fast. Big things, and real fast. Stuff we took for granted for decades, maybe even centuries, are going to fall down like a big house of cards. People get scared for their lives in a whole new way when that starts happening. People start clawing at the edges. Suddenly money, any kind of money, has got to be hand-held. Not just on a screen or in a company's hands. If you can't smell it, you cannot trust it. CIS banks are going to run up dry and anyone with their savings in the war stocks will be left with nothing but what's in their pockets. Think about where that leaves our kind, you and me, and our employers. You tell me that none of us will be desperate on that day. You tell me we wouldn't kill our own mothers for a handful of genuine creds when it comes."

"You make a fine talk, but..." he glanced outside once more, then turned back. "Dogs chasing dogs. I'll need a good reason to split that money with you, Sing. _Get_ me one."

She glared defiantly, eyes shielded by half-open lids, as she rose from her chair and snatched up the last of her drink.

"Oh, you'll get one. You know you're getting one."

* * *

><p>Cad Bane stole a glance at the chart. They were almost in the Corellian region and approaching a cluster of meteors. <em>Sleight of Hand <em>was still in hyperspace, and he began setting the calculations to pull them out. Nal Hutta was a ways behind them by now, but they were still on the outskirts of Hutt territory. He dug into the medpack to find some more drugs. A hardening, immobilizing gel from a plasto-cast canister coated his ribs, and now they just felt annoyingly sore. In regards to the wound inflicted by the lightsaber, the drugs would help wear it off long enough. And as for the headache, why, it practically wasn't there if he didn't think about it.

_So close_, thought Bane. He was that close to his death back on Nal Hutta.

Some of his survival in that scuffle had hinged on luck. Luck sometimes ran out on a fellow with no strings attached. Just one too many matches in a keg. He might end up with no wild cards next time, a laser bolt or blue beam through his heart. Dead. Torn in half.

He glanced behind him to see if Blythe had returned to the cockpit yet, but he hadn't seen her for hours now.

Bane tried to get up out of the seat, but gravity felt strangely heavy, like a dense fog, and soon he just gave up. His back was killing him from that fall on the rocks. He reset some more controls as pain shot up his arm. If he could hold out to his next hideout, proudly dubbed Three, he would get some rest then.

Maybe it was risky enough to end their little game. Get back to stocking up his tallies. Find another job to occupy him for the better part of a couple months. Give Blythe the chance to start taking medicine for all those diseases. And get around to finding out what was causing this damned headache.

Damn. That lightsaber wound hurt like a son of a bitch.

Finally up ahead, Three peered out through the surrounding wall of stars.

It wasn't the most attractive of hideouts. In fact, in all honesty, it was downright ugly. It was not exactly the ideal place to die alone of sickness or injuries, or stay any longer than was required. It hovered, small and pewter gray, in a cluster of meteors that helped it blend into its surroundings. Compared to some of the other hideouts hidden in various regions of the galaxy, it was quite the reasonable size, and served as one of the best pit stops for a resupply of weapons, equipment, explosives, medical supplies, or just plain rest.

Bane found himself letting out a small sigh of relief. They had made it this far. They had made it to safety. They were going to be all right. With the realization that they were truly, at least for a few short hours, within every definition of that strange word _safe_, a dozen desires hit him all at once.

He wanted to scrub every dried speck of pond scum, blood, and human saliva from his skin until he was clean again. He wanted to peel his soggy, charred, and torn clothes off his body. He wanted to stand under a hot shower for the remainder of the night. He wanted Blythe by his side. He wanted to fall onto a bed of cool sheets and lay there motionless as long as he needed to. He wanted to sleep for a week and a day.

Bane landed _Sleight of Hand _outside the portal door. The exit hatch hissed open, and the outside lights flickered on. He hesitated to listen for any sound Blythe might make, but there was nothing to be heard but his own breathing and the blinking of the controls. Again, he reached into the medpack and took a few more pills to beat down the pain.

Slowly, he started to process the next several steps he would have to take in order to ensure this so-called _safety _for a few hours. First, he would need to take care of his worst injuries to prevent further damage or infection, and so he would heal faster. The sooner he found out what sort of medicine or treatment he would require, the better off the situation would be. Second, all necessary precautions had to be taken to make sure they had not been followed, or the base had not been discovered by anybody else, and so on. The regular shake-down just to be certain. He would also have to do something with Blythe at some point as well...after all, just leaving her to tend to herself would be a waste of both his time and money, and after what happened on Nal Hutta, he knew he could not trust her to do that for a while yet.

And finally, he needed to find out more about Garr Broxin, Orett Solarin, and whatever he could on their relations to all previously mentioned and eradicated parties.

But it did not take long for those thoughts to become memory, however, as Bane began to succumb to the sleep pills he did not know had been in the medpack, or that he had just recently swallowed. Instead it began to occur to him how exhausted he must be. The world trickled down the drain. The darkness opened up, warm and inviting. Conscious only of the fact that he was breathing and had not risen from his chair, Bane felt his shoulders roll back as his muscles began to relax. He stepped inside the darkness, little by little, until his eyes closed at last and he fell into a shallow, restless sleep. He had not known how much the headache had become more than just a headache.

He also did not know that it was Blythe who had slipped the sleep pills in the medpack, or that she watched him fall asleep the entire time.

* * *

><p>Blythe watched him for a long while, too frightened to move a muscle just in case the sleep pills had not worked to their full extent. She listened to his slow, raspy breathing, and watched how his hands would start shaking for several minutes and then stop for some time. And she listened to the quiet humming of the station, as well as the controls that let off rhythmic mechanical whirs and chirps to reassure that what they had engaged was still stabilized or under control.<p>

For that short period of time, the world really did appear under control. Quiet, and still. No words needed to be said and nothing but the promise of lungs still breathing to assure life was still intact.

When Blythe was finally sure the sleep pills had worked, she walked into the cockpit and knelt down in the front of Bane's chair. She glanced up at him. He was slouched and sprawled over, his clothes caked in filth and blood, the side of his face pressed against the back of the chair. His muscles were tensed in a feverish sleep.

Then, after propping up a small pillow to sit on, Blythe began the task of peeling off the used bacta strips and replacing them with new ones. All the while, she prayed a prayer she knew that no one would listen to or much less acknowledge, but bred from the last of her collected thoughts nonetheless. Much like the dying light of sunset before the nightfall, she made a small, silent prayer through her teeth. That they would stay safe, and that nothing bad would happen to them. That everything would be all right long after he awoke.

* * *

><p><em>Revision Note:<em>

_Literally not much to see her other than a tad more of character development in Embo and a bit of touching up in the final scene. M-rated stuff, yes...action-violence has its gory aftermaths, I'm sure. But don't worry, injuries don't last forever..._


	14. Stockholm Syndrome

_"Space Bound"_

_Chapter Fourteen: Stockholm Syndrome_

* * *

><p>"<em>Gonna die if my sweet man should pass me by<br>If I die where'll he be?  
>He's the kind of a man needs the kind of a woman like me<br>Don't know any reason why he treats me so poorly  
>What have I gone and done?<br>Makes my troubles double with his worries  
>When surely I ain't deserving of none"<em>

_-Billie Holiday, "Moanin' Low"_

* * *

><p>Cad Bane did not care to read up on the current happenings via the HoloNet on the Number Three datascreen during the next few days. He already knew enough about them.<p>

The headline would announce that the Chancellor had been kidnapped, when it had happened, who was to blame for the most obvious reasons, and so forth. It would throw in some happy news or advertisements for good measure and try to reassure everyone that the worst stories they had heard were no more than rumors, and announce that the Chancellor would be returned safe before long. It was the HoloNet's job, after all, to water down the peoples' raw emotions of terror, anxiety, hatred, prejudice, and other such nasty things. Such emotions were reactive and immediate to emergency situatiosn as was this, which led to actions that could get out of control at an unstoppable, unpredictable rate. And then where would everyone be if those emotions, then, were not kept in place? Of course, there would be sheer panic spanning lightyears across the galaxy, and that's not a good thing at all. Keep them happy. Keep them thinking they're safe.

Bane shut his eyes, reopened them, and braced his forearms against the mattress. Behind him, Blythe lay half-dressed and face-down on the bed. Her head was turned to the side and her eyes were shut in a shallow sleep. Bane slowly sat up and cursed under his breath as pain shot up his back. There was no way he would get much, if any, sleep tonight. Too much weighed down his mind. Too much still throbbing or stabbing like a son of a bitch. Too much to mull over or silently curse about. In essence, perhaps a bit too much of everything tonight.

Fuck. All well. Not the first time. He had probably been through worse.

But throw in a handful more time and no one would be able to tell he had wrestled a Jedi down in the Nal Hutta hell. No one would even ask about it. Then the Corrino's would inevitably self-destruct as any tight-knit organization does with disassembly in the ranks, the Chancellor would be returned, and somehow Blythe would find long-term medicine for her sickness. Best-case scenario, most if not all of the above would be cleared up before the standard year was completed. It wouldn't be much longer, now. Not much longer before it was all over and done with.

Not as if there had ever existed for Cad Bane such a stage as _normal _or _stable_, but even his pay for killing Orett Solarin would not last long before he couldn't turn down another job. In a small matter of time, his expenses would start to run thin and spread out more than they should. On top of all that was the Lethan, Blythe, and the never-ending question of just how sick she was, and quite possibly, if any level of medicine could reverse much of the damage.

In his aching head, it was a fucking mess. The fact that it was a fucking mess at this hour of the night, as they were practically stranded in the middle of outer space with only so much supplies, and he had injuries that still hurt after taking multiple pain-killing drugs, did not help much.

Goddammit, he needed a drink.

He lit a cigarette as a minor distraction before forcing himself up, and as quietly as he could, walked to the other end of the room to find something to quench not just the thirst in his throat. Unable to resist, he whistled a tune to himself in a low, soft tone so that the sound would not wake Blythe.

He did not know that Blythe was already awake.

* * *

><p>Blythe listened, afraid of when or if he would discover that she was.<p>

She listened to his boots scraping against the hard, icy floor. She listened to him whistling ever so softly, as whenever he hit a higher note he dragged it down so not to wake who he must have thought was fast asleep. She listened to the bottles clinking against each other in the conservator as he rummaged through the contents almost as if in desperation to find what he was looking for. She listened to his long, cold breathing stained by the reek of nicotine smoke. Then Blythe bit down on her tongue just to be sure she would not make any sound.

It was not hard for Blythe to tell that he was still in a lot of pain. He had taken plenty of the pills and did not favor doing much walking around or other unnecessary movement ever since they had arrived at the hideout.

But because he was a bounty hunter, her Bane Cad was supposed to suck it in and take it as if it wasn't there. He was supposed to laugh or curse it off and just cause all the more pain on others without a second thought to it. There shouldn't be anything physical bounty hunters couldn't handle except death itself. There was no battle they could not rise from, no contest they could not emerge out of, and no challenge they turned down out of cowardice or weakness. Even Blythe, who only knew these things because of the small pieces of conversations, fights, and personality _analyzes _from folks strikingly similar to her Bane Cad, knew that there was no other way a successful bounty hunter in this day and age could operate.

But she, on the polar opposite of the entire paradigm that formed this matched made out Happyface, was just a dancer and a whore. More specifically, and most importantly, she was _his _dancer, and _his _whore. She couldn't handle anything. It was the one thing she had been permitted to hold as an absolute for years and years. She knew she was not strong, nor all that smart. That's what they said. And yes. They were right.

The two couldn't be anymore different, then. One was against the world. Rhe other was the product of the world. One would rather die than be dependent. The other would die _without_ being dependent.

And because of that, hearing and seeing him in that weak moment of being in pain was a most terrifying moment for Blythe.

Because aren't the bounty hunters much more dangerous when they had endured such injuries and afflictions? Wasn't their level of adrenaline and desperation magnified when they were facing their own mortality? Didn't that mean that because of whatever had happened on Nal Hutta, every enemy gained more threat and more power? Had everything suddenly become far worse for them?

Blythe had to remind herself of that day at the train station when all those invisible Boltrunians shot at them. He got her out of the way and shot them down easily. He also saved her from the Weequay's in Nal Hutta when she went trying to go looking for him. If he could hold out then, surely he could hold out now.

Yes, Blythe was certain her Bane Cad would be okay and he would be strong, and would indeed come out on the other side of the tunnel still on two legs. It was only a question if _she _would be okay.

Blythe knew she wouldn't be. At least she was smart enough to know that.

Suppose, once she had run out of every trick in the book, the well was run dry, and all the surprises and delights he searched for in her were all excavated for good, he would be finished with her. He would leave her somewhere to die or to be picked up by Garr Broxin again. Just like Orett Solarin and Broxin had threatened to do all the time if she did not do enough or misbehaved on them.

In the end, as always, there was no reason for him to keep her if he could find what he wanted anywhere else.

And when Blythe thought about it that way, she could be in danger.

_Blythe...we're in such danger here. If he gets what he wants anywhere else, we will die. He will either kill us or let somebody else do it._

And he wouldn't care, either. Look at all the people he killed without a blink or a second of hesitation. Men and women and children, young and old, armed and unarmed, guilty and innocent. In the barrel of a weapon, in his eyes, all were of the same stock. Obstacles, catalysts, or a mixture of both. What would hold him back from killing her as well? Who is to say that the same thing that happened to his friend in Happyface the night he came back for her would not, either randomly or set up as inevitable, happen to her?

Yes. That had to be the reason she felt so terrified. After all, the bounty hunter will do anything for the right price. And there was no doubt in her mind that she was increasingly going to cost him.

Blythe got up. She stood up. Her body didn't want to move. Her mind begged for medicine to end the aching jabs in her legs and stomach.

Your Bane Cad doesn't want you, only_ more_.

Not more games, not more what you have to give, not more kills or tallies, not even more money...just _more_.

Blythe slowly walked across the small, dark room. Behind her, she let the bed sheets fall back onto their bed. A blue-tinted beam of light streamed in from the half-open refresher nearby. She trembled. Here, it was coming again. It was the sickness. The dreaded sickness. She hadn't imagined it would be this awful once the pregnancy had progressed longer than it ever had in the past. Some medicine, Blythe thought, medicine would help if there was any of it here.

But did she dare raise her voice when he was in such a state? He might shoot her just for asking something of him.

Blythe's eyes shot open. Bane had turned. Had he...he _had _heard her.

Blythe, shivering in the cold, felt the words tumble out from behind her tongue.

"Just felt a li'l sick is all. That was all, Cad. I don't wanna bother you, I just gotta, feel a li'l sick..."

"Then lie back down," he said, his tone dark and planate. His voice sounded different without the breathing tubes, but not by much.

She hastily obeyed as her knees gave a slight buckle. He crossed the room and sat back down on the edge of the bed. In one hand he held a bottle containing a thick, dark beverage. In the other were more drugs.

Something was different about his eyes, Blythe realized. They were no longer a strong, deep crimson as much as she had remembered them always being before. Something had changed. Something had been taken away from them. But she could not put her finger on what it was.

"What do you want me to do?" she whispered. His bare back was turned to her. Blythe knew that they were there, the scars. Now across his left ribcage, an ugly open gash had cut through. Half of it was covered by a bacta strip. She looked away from the other half, feeling dizzy.

"Take this. It might help. Might not," he suddenly said, and he gave her a few small tablets. She took them dry.

Bane popped open the bottle and took a long, thirsty swig of the nasty stuff. Blythe could taste its scent. It smelled vile. Why he would want to drink something that she would have preferred tar or fuel oil over, she had no idea.

"They're helping," she lied. Then Blythe thought about how bad of a liar she was. As he took another swig, she continued with increasing pitch in her voice. "You...you need help? Want me to do something, I do it. I'll help if you're hurting much. If don't want to do much, maybe I can—"

"_Blythe_...shut your mouth and get some sleep." His tone sounded strained, like his energy had been spread across too many hours.

"Sorry, I'm sorry. Sorry. Can't sleep." She tried to lie down, to relax her muscles, and forget how terrified she was.

Whatever she did, she knew one thing. She had to keep him cold. Let him do whatever he wanted, even if it meant letting herself do whatever she wanted. Never mess up. Never speak against. Don't make him angry like his female Duros friend did. Do whatever he told her to do. Do all of those things and it would be all right. If she was able to do it, she would never again have to come into contact with whatever was inside him that was not indifferent, not amoral, and not a machine, and would very well kill her if given the slightest bit of an opportunity.

Bane finished off his drink before lowering himself back down on the bed. He rolled over on his side, his eyes half-closed and his bare shoulder brushing her lekku. She realized that they should be feeling rather alone as they hovered out there, unguarded and weakened, in the black vastness of space. But, strangely enough, a sense of loneliness was the last word Blythe would have used to describe how she felt in that moment.

His voice broke the silence.

"Why did you ask?"

"What, ask what?"

He snorted, as if at a corny joke she had not heard. His mouth was against the back of her neck. His breath smelled like whiskey—no, brandy, yes, it was brandy. Then his hands were on her arms. Now on her womb. Now they were sliding down her thighs.

"I mean," he said quietly, "why you were so excited about wanting to help? It's not like you would be of much use there, anyway."

"I'm not excited."

"What do you want, Blythe? I know there has to be something." Strange how his tone suggested he was both teasing her and letting her know he was as serious as hell.

She could still feel that lingering on, the desire for more. And Blythe began to wonder why she sometimes got the feeling that every time he asked her what she wanted, their action seemed like slightly less of the game—slight less of the sport all men like him played in which she could be their sabaac card that made them win, a game of fun in which she was always the piece and they were the playes—and more of a moment they shared alone. Much like the sense that even though they were seemingly trapped in one of the most desolate areas in the galaxy that she could think of, Blythe did not feel alone. It was a feeling she had never, ever felt with another man, much less another someone in the first place

It was something that did not sense to her, and odds withstanding it never would.

"Let me think..." she whispered, pressing her hand against his shoulder. She heard him moan as she slowly, and carefully, turned and rolled herself up on top of him, until he could coil his arms around her waist and dig his fingers into her back. She let out a long sigh as her knees dug into his hips.

"Don't break anything. I ain't all patched up yet," he muttered close to her ear.

So Blythe chose not to move at all, and she remained motionless. Her chest against his, her thighs brushing his side, her face against his neck.

It hurt like hell, but it was worth it. Bane cracked a small smile as her eyelashes tickled his cheek, sucking in her now familiar scent. Her touch felt calming to his mind yet electrifying to his body, as if inviting him to take on the galaxy in a deep dream world. The red flesh soothed him and it tested him. He wanted to burn and he wanted to set things on fire. Bane reached out, his hand gliding along her arm. Then his fingers slowly laced and curled around hers until they were intertwined and holding hands over the edge of the bed. Her smooth, gentle fingertips caressed his knuckles, calming him all the more.

And Blythe's body right on top of his, at that moment, was better than all the things they had done before. He wouldn't have had it any other way. No sound, no movement, no traffic lights. Just the two of them motionless and frozen in time, alone in the darkness. In that instant, it was as close to perfect as it could get. All was calm, and all was bright.

"How's that?" asked Blythe. Her mouth was against his collarbone.

"Keep it there," he said, breathless.

Blythe couldn't help but notice that, lying between them, was the child, half of him and half of her. The child Blythe knew would either die inside her or be snatched away before she could so much as touch it.

But considering her own history, the first was more likely.

* * *

><p>When Garr Broxin first heard the news, he almost didn't believe it. The first thing he did after the words had been spoken was gulp down the last of his Corellian whiskey and slam the glass on the marble table. Then he blinked and cleared his throat.<p>

"I'll get it right if you repeat yourself," said he in a low voice.

Less than several feet behind his sitting place, two Twi'lek girls took a step or two back. Garr Broxin was very drunk. It was easy to tell when he was drunk, because when he was drunk he was quiet. And a long time ago they had learned to fear silence. As they should.

The hologram figure in front of him on the table crackled.

_"The Jedi Master is dead. We found him in a Nal Hutta swamp."_

"He didn't accept the bounty," Broxin reflected. "I guess Jedi has a sensitive, _like_, conscience he carries around. L-like that lightsaber thing. I can go to bed tonight knowing he wouldn't have wanted to see me short on money. I can sleep on that. That's what you get when you issue a bounty, isn't that correct? I mean at least it's happy and quick and better than my ties to the fucking Boltrunians." He pinched the bridge of his nose and grinned ear-to-ear, his eyes wide open. "You can go away, now."

_"Sir, you're tired. It's been a long night. You haven't slept a wink in the past forty-eight hours. Why don't you get some rest and I'll keep you updated on what's going on?"_

"Are you _drunk_?"

As if in reply, the hologram flickered, like a blink.

_"I might be over the weekend. That is, if things aren't cleared up by then."_

"You are drunk, and you hate me." Broxin cut the signal. He rose from his chair and tried kicking it, but his drunkenness made him miss by a couple inches. As a result, he lost his balance and his stomach ate the corner of the table. Broxin stumbled, got back up, and acted like it never happened, slapping the sweat off his forehead and neck.

"Are _you_ drunk too?" he asked the smaller of the two Twi'leks as he turned to them. Her name was Tee. She was approximately ten standard years old and had been purchased a mere two weeks ago. Her skin color was a bright but subtle green, much like the first blade of grass. As for the other Twi'lek, her complexion had lost a great deal of saturation thanks to the fact that Broxin had owned her for a number of years.

Tee violently shook her head, making her bracelets and headpiece jingle.

"No, Garr," she said. Her voice was no more than a hoarse little whisper.

"I don't think I can hear you because..," He took a step towards her. The other girl silently stepped to the side and pinned her back against the wall.

"_No_, Garr," Tee repeated.

"_Don't call him that; you call him Master, you idiot_," the other girl whispered as quietly as she could, but she was scarcely heard by either of the two.

He glared down at her. She was about two-thirds his height.

"I think you have to speak louder."

She could not breathe as she stared up at him. His sky-blue eyes were bloodshot, his cheeks flushed, and his tight lips had turned white. Tee's lower lip trembled. Then he tapped her chin with the tip of his index finger.

"Tee. Tee. I-I can't hear you."

"Not drunk, Garr."

The older Twi'lek looked away, not wanting to watch what would happen next.

To the horror of the little green girl named Tee, Broxin snatched her chin, tilted her head back, and planted his lips on hers. It was a sensation she had never known before. The nausea-inducing taste of hot, strong liquor made her tongue swell, and she nearly blacked out from the shock of her very first kiss. He wrapped his mouth over hers and began sucking the air out of her throat, thinking it tasted rather sweet.

Tee could stand it no longer. She pulled herself away, gasping and spitting. No one had told her a kiss could taste so terrible.

The sound of the first slap echoed off the walls.

"I still couldn't hear you. What was that you said? Please tell me, little one."

Her breasts, still growing, were small enough to fit inside his fists. Broxin opened his mouth as her high-pitched screams pierced his ear canals. Little girl screams were his personal favorite kind.

"Say it, Tee," the older Twi'lek said, still turned away.

An hour ago, Tee suddenly recalled, she had been tugging on the older Twi'lek to ask her a question, for she had been confused. On the days Garr Broxin either was happy or wanted to be happy, he would call a couple of them inside his room at the Ryloth base, and today Tee had been called.

"Why did he call me? Why'd he say my name?" Tee had asked.

"You're new. You're still pure," the older girl had replied, barely batting an eyelash.

"But he told us he doesn't like pure girls, and I'm a pure girl."

"That's right, Tee. He's going to initiate you. You won't have to be pure anymore."

Now Tee was beginning to understand what the word _initiate _had meant.

His teeth and fingernails were unbearably sharp. Tee screamed again, but it only made everything worse. He wrapped one free hand around her wrist and shoved her down onto the table face-up. His body felt like a brick wall, bending and wrapping over her. Tee heard one of her bones snap under the weight. Still holding her wrist, he grinned happily as he let himself explore however many inches of her he could, all of which were so small and fragile. It was as if he was on top of a glass doll.

"_Ouch_..." Tee gasped. No one had told her it would hurt this much.

When she did not scream for some time, he gave one of her lekku a good tug, which set her off underneath him all over again.

"I think _you_ aredrunk," he said as he grabbed the sides of her face and forced her to look down. She felt the brick wall pound the sides of her head. Then everything from her lips down to her throat burned in the next several hellish minutes. By the time Tee's mouth was filled up her throat could no longer handle any sort of scream. All she could do was pray he would let her open her mouth and let her breathe again.

"I'm not drunk," she squealed when he pulled her back, hot useless tears streaming down her face like little rivers.

"Well, why didn't you say so in the first place?" he laughed.

The Corrino ship was old and rusty and beat the scrap pile by five trips.

* * *

><p>Their little trip into the outer stretches of Hutt Space had been delayed after having to pick up a soldier working under allegiance to the Dio family who carried vital information from sources on Nal Hutta. According to the two, who worked for a Dio hiding out on the Nal Hutta system, they had heard the village talking about a dead Jedi who had been found out in the swamps. Not to mention, there was the story of the Chancellor of the Republic being kidnapped by the CIS. Indeed it was a lot to take in for one day. That, and their new lead in the hunt, was enough to make any Boltrunian go insane with blood lust.<p>

They were finally going to get their hands on the next catch and the just to avenge the deaths of three brothers, but to show Broxin's customers that no one challenger took on their family and survived the consequences. With every day each and every one of their challengers lived, the insult on the family name worsened in weight and actuality. The best part? This would only be the first kill. More were coming. Once the war was over, all hell would break loose in the galaxy's criminal underworld, and families like the Corrino's would lead at the tip of the spear to cut open the entrails of the oppressors.

As the ship dragged on deeper into the darkness, it slowly began to close in on a small, almost invisible station, which was hidden deep in an asteroid field just over one mile away from said ship. Also unbeknownst to the ship was just how close they were to triggering a special mine field designed for outer space. A mine field that was unable to detect from heat-sensory waves and radio-wave detectors. A mine field that strategically surrounded this almost invisible station within a one-mile radius. Thus, any ships that penetrated this radius, without the mines being shut down from one specific datapad now inside the station, would face severe damage, if not all out detonation.

The mathematical certainty of this act only increased as the seconds dragged on, and the ship grew closer, and closer, and closer still.

* * *

><p><em>Revision Note:<em>

_Sheesh...this chapter. Was tough. To write. I love it and I hate it. Mostly cleaned up the prose, including making some of the thought processes more clear. I also changed the ending of the chapter a bit, but I still feel slightly unsure about it, but generally better._


	15. Come Away to the Slaughter

_"Space Bound"_

_Chapter Fifteen: Come Away to the Slaughter_

* * *

><p><em>"Come away little lamb<br>Come away to the water  
>Give yourself so we might live anew<br>Come away little lamb  
>Come away to the slaughter<br>To the ones appointed to see this through  
>We are calling for you<br>We are coming for you"_

_-Maroon 5, "Come Away to the Water"_

* * *

><p>"Tee?" Broxin called out, to which he received no answer. "Tee?"<p>

"I'm over here."

He jumped up from his seat and turned around. His eyes glazed over the little Twi'lek girl crouched down in the corner.

"Say my name, Tee."

"Garr."

"Again."

"_Garr_."

"_Again_."

"Garr."

Tee couldn't tell how many more times he made her say it. It could have been hundreds of times. It could have lasted hours. She just did not know for sure.

"You know," Garr said, starting to laugh to himself, "you are one of the most beautiful things I've seen in Solarin's stock. I mean, you have long eyelashes, and your stomach is soft." On cue, his hand glided over her belly, and her whole body gave a violent shake at the touch.

"I don't like it when you touch me."

"Don't move so much. You have delicious lekku. You smell like a bunch of flowers in a cold rain as cigarette smoke waftes by. I think it is your smell that I like so much. Is it okay with you and your parents if I smell it all the time?"

"My parents won't care." Obviously, they couldn't. They were dead. And to pay off the family debts, the distant relatives allowed her older sister to be sold off. Then when they realized they made good money that way, Tee went, too.

His nose brushed hers, and for a moment, he stuck out his tongue and let it graze over her lips. He was terribly tempted to kiss her, but decided against it at the last second.

"I love you, Tee," he said.

He did not hear an answer.

"Do you love _me_, Tee? Tee, be my dearest. I want to hold you. I want to be your dearest. Will you?" After a moment, he pulled himself back up to his feet and began laughing quietly. "Oh, I'm sorry for being so hasty. I shouldn't ask you to say such hasty things, because, we just met and I haven't told you about all my secrets and fetishes and favorite colors and dishes, but I think I will when you are all done."

"Done with what?"

Garr pulled up his pants and put on a clean shirt as Tee waited, her eyes squeezed shut. The door opened behind him and two of his customers walked in.

"Mr. Broxin," one of them immediately said, "The Jedi who killed Ael—they found him on—"

"I know, I know, someone always drops in and tells me the same exact story every five fucking minutes."

"He was a good man. He fought for justice," the other chimed in.

"Oh, yes, I really do think so too. All of you Jedi are so noble and so brave, it makes me scared and sometimes a little sick," said Broxin. He grabbed the nearest bottle of his favorite Corellian whiskey and started his regular swigs.

Now was the perfect time to get drunk. After all, who knew how many more of his Jedi customers would stop by today?

* * *

><p>Cad Bane heard the explosion from outside the hideout.<p>

But it was the alarms that began to ring all throughout the station that reassured him that he had not fallen asleep.

He would never tell anyone how, as soon as he heard them, everything in him became suddenly terrified, and he felt very much like a small animal being dragged to the butcher. But of course, that was one of the most extreme of emotions that one must immediately put on a cold burner in favor of the most important of facts. Otherwise, one can go crazy.

For a few hours, he had been in his stock room checking up on his supply of bacta-aid kits, ammunition, utilities, and explosives. His weapon count had needed to be updated as well, including a new collection of SE-14 and IR-5 blaster pistols, Bryar rifles, and a few Dragoneye Reapers. Not to mention a healthy backup of smoke and stun grenades, thermal detonators, and a few spare wrist gauntlets. In addition, he needed to put in an order for a new techno service droid.

After that, he had spent a good part of the earliest morning hours personalizing his new double-blasters, fixing up his coat, sizing his new boots, and cleaning his wounds. His bad arm was doing much better, but still couldn't handle a gauntlet. Only his right arm had a gauntlet now. Most of the cuts and bruises were already healing quickly thanks to the medical equipment he kept stored in the station. Even the lightsaber wound didn't look as bad when he put a new bacta strip over it.

No.

It was the headache that was killing him.

Ever since he woke up with Blythe by his side in a deep drug-induced sleep, the headache had been on the level of bearable as was usual. Now it was unmerciful once again, a thousand swollen hammers behind his eyes, and he wondered, what the fuck was up with that.

Just like back on Nal Hutta, Bane began to take shot after shot of strong liquor to kill the pain. Something he was sure worked better than anything else. Hell, he might as well.

The only problem in this particular solution was the fact that it was the dead of night, and he was alone and tired and safe in a silent and dreary storage room, and thus, the concept of _self-control _was but the memory of what it was like to be on the run or on the job. And frankly, it was a memory he did not mind forgetting in times like this.

Seven shots into his pain-killing campaign and Bane could _safely_ assume he was drunk.

That was when the alarms sounded. It was the warning that triggered whenever one of the surrounding mines exploded outside, implying an intruder of the area. He had set up the mine field to ward off any ships that came too close to the hideout soon after the station was placed there, and it had served its purpose on enough occurences that he could count on one hand. At first, the alarms seemed to howl as that of a warning pack of bloodwolves on the planet Rena, but as they continued they morphed into a series of high-pitched screams, like the human Jedi Master burning under the flamethrower down to the Nal Hutta Hell.

Bane slammed down the whiskey bottle. He'd heard the alarms before when a rogue band of pirates had attempted to sneak-attack the place. The radar computers scanned the ship's surface and detected distinct Corrino markings as what he had previously inputed in the computer. Without his knowing it, he began to laugh again as he had before.

"Come _on_ in," he cackled. He switched open the side hatch to _Sleight of Hand_ as he more or less intentionally accented the incorrect words in his intoxicated state. "Door's wide _open_. I got nothing better to _do_ then to shoot you _all_ down. I like the _way_ you stinking Boltrunians _die_."

He heard a voice tell him that he and Blythe were going to be killed at the hands of the Corrino's.

It was a voice as strong as a mother's, as if behind the clouds, not physically _heard, _but detected word for word.

They were going to die...

Bane reached out and felt along the floor for his hat. His fingers curled around the rim and he snapped it on. As the laughing began to sting his healing ribs, he stuck his new blasters in their holsters. By then, the alarms were screeching at the top of their lungs, like cries of terror. The walls flashed all the shades of red. If Blythe had still been sleeping, she was awake, now.

_Stand up, _Bane managed to tell himself through all the dead thoughts the whiskey had killed. _Get out of the hideout before they find you._

Why were his hands starting to shake again?

_They were going to die..._

"_Cad_!"

It was Blythe. No one else called him by his first name, right?

She appeared in the doorway, not moving and not breathing. He could see her. Against the flashing lights of the alarms, she looked even redder than ever. A bit reminiscent even of the night he watched her dance at Hawke Noth with the spotlight right on her.

"C'mere, Blythe."

He tried to take a straight step, but the ground was shaking.

_Dammit_. He had almost forgotten how drunk he was. This would prove to be a problem.

"You all right, Cad?" Blythe whimpered, as if her throat was choked.

He looked and noticed how hard he was squeezing her arm. A little shove and he had her out of the doorway down the hallway to _Sleight of Hand_.

"Why, you saying I don't look it?" he snapped.

_They were going to die. In the middle of nowhere in the dead of darkness, bodies never found and Corrino's getting their vengeance for his own unfinished business..._

"I mean, I don't...but Bane Cad..."

"Oh, shaddup, it _doesn't_ matter. I'm just a little drunk tonight, little Blythe. In case you 'hought you should _know _that. I had a _lot _to drink, and I am drunk."

She stopped walking. Against his body, hers trembled.

_She's scared. Can't let her get scared. She gets real stupid when she's scared, _he thought.

At the other end of the base, an explosion went off. The walls rattled all around them. His back felt hot. His free hand automatically sunk down to the holster. Another bitter-tasting chuckle was yanked out of his throat. At first he thought, what the fuck was that? Then he realized the Corrino's ship had probably been set to self-destruction as soon as they figured out what had happened, so they could escape without waiting to die a slow death. In other words, if one ship was going down, it was intended so that it would take as much of the station as it could with it. Playing back at him with his own game. Go figure.

He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pushed her forward, gently but firmly. There was another explosion. The base trembled. Sounded close. If the next explosion hit their hallway or _Hand, _they would have two to three more minutes to live. One wrong move and the Corrino's, who were hiding out in some escape pod by now unless they died in the first explosion, were going to win after all.

"Should just walk, keep walking?" Blythe swallowed and tried to breathe.

"Sure. You _know_ I'd like to have some of your ideas, if you want to share 'em with me. Now c'mon, get over here."

From the room behind them, a white fire began to billow. The entire base groaned in a threat to tear itself in half. It must have been hit by a piece of the ship when it exploded. It only felt as if they were going slower with each half-second. As if every step pushed them two steps back. One couldn't run to save her life, the other barely sober enough to keep going. To Cad, the world was a jumble of flashing red colors and loud noises and a pleasant scent. To Blythe, the world was on fire.

"Talk to me, Blythe," Cad said. "Keep talking to me or I will have a harder time keeping up and I'll get lost or something."

"Talk about what?" she asked.

"Anything..." he said, bracing himself against the wall before they continued on, beginning to lose a sense of gravity. Somewhere during their escape his tone of voice had changed. What had once sounded like a reckless young boy, a rebel without a caurse in the galaxy, had suddenly become a quiet individual who could not care less if he survived the next few minutes or was breathing his last. "What if you talk to me about the kid. I mean, the kid you have that's on the way. I mean, what are we going to name it?"

"What...?"

"I said, just talk to me. You want a distraction, don't you? Well, I'm fucking giving you one, so keep talking. Trust me, it works."

_We're probably going to die, _Cad thought in a drunkeningly bliss sort of way.

He made her get into the cockpit first and climbed in after her, stumbling over this and that. Her knees were knocking against each other; sweat had dampened her neck and collarbone, forehead and palms. A final explosion made the base shake, and through the sound he could decifer that the storage hold, protecting his vital and rather expensive collection, had been lost, and he thought, _shit, those karking goons, _because his only other collection was on a faraway system and was not nearly as up to date as this one. In the general sense he now, save for the backup he kept at all his hideouts, he had little more than what he carried with him and whatever he could get on the black market. _Shit._

"I think it's a boy," she finally said.

"Do you, now." Quickly he began to work on turning on the controls, which was nearly twice as difficult when everything from the shoulders down felt numb. After, all, only a part of him really knew what he was doing.

"He's making me work hard already. Just like you. Bet's it's a boy _just _like you."

"I don't give a raw honest fuck if I'm his dad or not."

"But Cad—"

"Settle down, little red girl. We're taking off any second now."

The Boltrunians were about to hack into the base, tear it limb from limb, do whatever they wanted to all they could find. If any shred of him could think one clear thought, it was this—

_Don't let them get us. You can't put up a fight worth shit. They'll fuck every last piece of life and sanity out of Blythe if they get their hands on her. They'll just shoot me, but with her, not nearly that fast. Just get us out of here._

In the back of his head there was the subtle thought that he had failed himself yet a second time, the first time being when he let himself go in that Nal Hutta cantina. And that had not even been one week ago, now. _Well, karking shit._

* * *

><p>The realizations were slowly trickling back into reality as the affect of the drink began to wear off. Which, unfortunately, worsened the severity of the headache.<p>

At least he had one thing to be thankful for, however. _Sleight of Hand _got them away from the station before it was destroyed, and physically speaking, they were safe again after all.

He was tempted to take a swing around back to see exactly what had happened, but Cad Bane could be certain of one thing. The Corrino ship had been caught in the mine field, and those on board had either escaped or were killed instantly. Either way, the ship lost enough control so that it put the station at risk. Now there was no way of knowing of the entire station was only partially damaged or had been lost in a later explosion, but the latter of the two options was far more likely. As he continued thinking about the situation at hand, an unsettling thought slowly sank in to that cold, dark cabin.

Perhaps Broxin had more allies than he had thought. News could be spread quickly across the galaxy. And these days, when the stocks were dropping faster than ever before for the CIS, money was increasingly hard to come by for those more deseperate for funds or work, and what was money?

Money was what everyone wanted, what everyone desired and chased for and needed more than anything else, because money meant everything. Money meant you could afford to protect yourself, equip yourself, build up your own esteem, and yes, cover the growing expense of entertainment and pleasure. A man with money was a man with power. Money pulled you out of the clutches of death. A man without money was, then, a dead man. One could not survive long without the stuff.

So it made sense that men frequently spent hours squabbling into the night over money issues. It made sense that men could tell a white lie to someone who earned their trust only for a few credits. It made sense that some men hunted and chased for money, and some made threats in the name of it, and some pointed blasters at each other for it and many pulled the trigger. Why, even the Jedi were no better than that, for the Jedi apparently has no problem with using cheap quick fixes on huge discount to save himself some cash, rather than covering the expense of a high-class call girl when he had spent a few too many hours deep in the Jedi Temple.

So, then, if a Jedi could do that, who was to say the man now in possession of Todo 360 wouldn't change his mind and spill the beans for a handful more of it? Who was to say that the next friend or so-called would not risk his own safety for some of it? Who was to say that were was not one person in the galaxy who would not turn down even, say, one-thousand credits? Would not anyone, given the opportunity, attempt to be included in on this new bounty issued out by an alcoholic businessman named Garr Broxin?

These days, who could you trust.

After all, it was also a growing galactic truth that the CIS would soon lose the Clone Wars, which meant reconstruction of many systems and new powers granted to the Republic. More laws may be enacted to disappoint any future expectations of the rise of a new confederacy. Working in the black market would, in all likelihood, become far more difficult if things went in that direction.

And so, thought Cad Bane, the hunter has become the hunted.

No matter which way this damn war ended, there were going be trillions and trillions of folks suddenly without a job, without cash, without a home, without guidance or supervision.

The galaxy would reek of blood far worse than it did, now.

If only Cad Bane had known how true his prediction was.

He did know one thing for certain, however. He had to head on back to Coruscant to his hideout there to restock on supplies and finish healing up so he could get back to work soon. Earn his one million credits for killing a Jedi, if the Separatists were still pulling that agenda—at the very least, he would get _something _for it. It was worth a shot. Slip his tail out from under the Corrino's and Broxin's bounty. Lay low in Number One for a while until the smoke cleared again, and if he could risk it, do something about Blythe until she could recooperate and take medicine for her diseases. It seemed the most ideal action to take.

So it was the same pattern over and over again. Jump out into the game, slink back and lick the wounds, and jump back in. It was a most fun game to play but only when one had a fine set of pieces and was, in fact, not being used as a piece by someone else, in which case it was the apocalypse. It was a dance, a round of cards, an act on stage, and to the one well accustomed to the rules and the plays, it was just for fun.

He leaned back in the seat, rubbing his head as it got quite angry at him for consuming all that whiskey several hours back. His skull felt as if it had been cracked open by the sharp end of a hammer. At least the cabin of _Hand _was comfortably cool, quiet, and dark, all of which in no way aggravated the headache. But damn the Corrino's, he thought, and damn the loose lips on Nal Hutta that gave away his destination, and especially damn himself for letting himself get carried away and almost fucking killing them.

Maybe while they lay low on Coruscant, he could get this pestering injury looked at and finally rid himself of these headaches. If he had to take lighter steps from now on from one job to the next, he couldn't very well spend half that time trying to find the next thing to distract him. He remembered what happened on Nal Hutta. The headache was the reason the Jedi Master had had an opening was able to stab him with his lightsaber.

Although, on second thought, maybe it wasn't such a hot idea. Republican security would easily be able to look at the records of any medical facility. And even if he found a Separatist or neutral facility, it risked walking out into the open for any Corrino's to nail them again.

He put his hand over the wound in his side and tried to stand up.

What was it going to take to rid himself of this headache? He had tried pills, sleep, and move than enough straight whiskey. His options were being narrowed down fast. He could only go on so long.

"Bane Cad, don't stand up."

He smirked as soon as Blythe had said it, and he rolled his head to the side to let his eyes glaze over hers for a moment. He could see her face in the little light reflected from the cabin controls. Laughing hurt his healing ribs, so he held it back. Instead Cad sank back down in the chair with but a small chuckle.

"Don't bother me, Blythe. I'm busy having a hangover."

Blythe, her steps faint and distant on the hard floor, approached him. She held a small block of ice wrapped in a towel in her hand. She tried putting it against his forehead, but he brushed her hand away.

"You worrying about every little thing now? Couldn't have done that earlier."

"Sometimes, it helped me." Without another word, she put it on.

"Damn, that's cold," he gasped, but a moment later he stopped. It felt good.

"Bane Cad feel all right?"

"Me?" He smirked. "Sure. I feel wonderful."

"I think..." she glanced away for a moment, "I think we're okay now. You got us out of there fast. You tell me to keep talking about kid, so I did for a long time."

"I don't know how I did that; I was drunker than a Weequay."

"Well, you looked kind of happy to me." Blythe set the ice on the floor.

_Happy. _What a strange thought.

"Hey, I forgot. You hurt at all?" Cad found himself asking her.

"Nuttin' at all, I just feel—little sick. Sometimes it's kind of hard to breathe...just a little. Never been pregnant so long before."

"You'll have to manage for now."

"I can," she said without daring to look up at him. "And Cad, will Cad manage?"

"I imagine that if he has some time to rest up in peace and quiet, he will do just fine."

"Sure. Sure, Bane Cad. I'll leave now." She stood up and quickly backed away.

"No," he snapped, but it hurt, so he settled back down. "I mean, it wouldn't do for you to go run off by yourself." His voice quieted as he rubbed his forehead. "Just stay here."

Blythe did as she was told without a word, her head hanging low. As if afraid that one wrong move would make him angry or open one of his wounds, she slowly lowered herself back into his lap, resting her head on his good arm, and her legs curled up and were careful not to touch the lightsaber injury. As she did, Cad saw the look of exhaustion in her eyes, and it was almost impossible not to notice that the pregnancy was taking its toll on her body, weight and skin tone included. It was like holding a fragile doll. She felt lighter than she had even a few weeks ago. And even then, that was somewhat unsettling to him.

Trying to relax, he rested his hand on her shoulder and lowered his eyelids until they were almost closed. Sleep seemed miles away.

All the previous events, in his mind, lead to one simple conclusion that he could not avoid. Blythe's health. Her neediness. How close they came to getting killed. It all added up. And now a new, brutal idea had settled in, and it was haunting him during those long hours in which no words needed to be said between them.

If the Corrino's had managed to come that close to taking them both, and if Broxin had a bounty on his head, there was no telling how close they would be next time. But he would be ready for it, of course, ready as he had ever been. Cad knew they'd never catch him drunk again; drinking no longer erased the headache as it had on Nal Hutta. No, he had to find something new to cope with it until it blew over or he got his head fixed or something. As long as he could hold himself together, which he'd been able to do under much harder circumstances than this, he should be all right.

They could easily catch Blythe, though, as had been proven on Nal Hutta.

She didn't stand a chance.

They could not be any more different. To the lot of them all, he was _still_ and always _would_ be infamous for being the deadliest bounty hunter in the galaxy since Jango Fett. He needed no introduction. Such a title was enviable, and catching said bounty hunter at a wounded, vulnerable state would make the day of anyone who might want it for himself. Such as Embo, or Sing, or Bossk.

But to the lot of them all, _Blythe_ was just a Twi'lek dancer and a sickly whore, her market worth lessening with each passing day, her value diminishing in their eyes. If anyone should be so lucky as to come upon her, a prize for catching him in that vulnerable state, they would be unmerciful to her in every way they could think of. Nobody would care if they heard Blythe had been starved or fucked to death and left in a dump. Left in that slaughterhouse to rot. Nobody would care at all. And they had no reason to, either.

Even Cad Bane didn't want to think about such a fate for his little red girl.

In that case, then...would it be a better fate for Blythe, in the happenstance they were surrounded on all sides, to die by _his _own hand?

If such an action would protect her from the hands of her old owners or the Corrino's themselves, matters just might point to it in the end. It would be painless for her, first of all. He could do it quickly enough that she would never know what hit her, and no one else who got their hands on her would be that mercifucl. And there was also the case of the unborn child, a child Cad knew would not last long if it even survived the next several months. Not if the mother had so many diseases.

If the time came, it wouldn't be so bad for Blythe if he just put a laser bolt through her head. One quick death that he probably would not enjoy doing, but it would be better for the both of them. To free her from her ill body and her broken mind. To rescue her from the sort of death that had been decided for her years ago. To spring her out of the life that had once been innocent and beautiful, but was now a nightmare she had been forced to relive again and again.

All would be in the hopes that whatever the hell lay after death couldn't be worse than the next moment of living. That the next breath would be more of a curse than a blessing. That she would open her eyes to a paradise. That she could be pure and innocent again—in someplace other than this galaxy that laughed at ideas of innocence and happiness and cheeriness and beautiful things.

He sometimes laughed at those things, too.

When—_if_—that time came, he would have to be ready for it in an instant. He had to be ready to do it in a second's notice if it meant at least granting her a quick, easy way out.

All this he thought of as he listened to the slow breathing of the Lethan in his lap that had fallen into a shallow sleep. He caressed her side, feeling the first stages of swelling of her stomach.

Killing her. His little red girl. Taking the kid with her.

Maybe it wouldn't have to happen. Maybe not. Hard to tell.

He wondered briefly, for the first time, just how many creatures he had killed in all his years of living. He would never tell a soul he had wondered such a thing, but in the darkness with nothing but his little red girl and his thoughts, he did.

* * *

><p><em>Revision Note:<em>

_Sorry but drunk Cad Bane is just too much fun to write. He's had enough of it, I promise. I tried to re-organize as much of the thought-process stuff in this chapter, and hopefully cleared up some of the more confusing parts. It still feels a bit messy to me, but maybe this chapter is supposed to feel messy. I mean, at least it's not supposed to feel clean, anyway._

_Revisions will probably be much lighter from here on out, but I'll still be polishing up :)_


	16. The Price of Old Partnerships

_"Space Bound"_

_Chapter Sixteen: The Price of Old Partnerships_

* * *

><p><em>"There comes you<br>To keep me safe from harm  
>There comes you<br>To take me in your arms  
>Is it just a game?<br>I don't know"  
><em>

_-Birdy, "Just a Game"_

* * *

><p>One of Cad Bane's pet peeves at a time like this was the pit stops.<p>

But as luck would have it, those damned Corrino's had actually made some use of their attack. One of the explosions from the Boltrunian ship had put a leak in the fuel supply before they bailed out, thus shortening their supply drastically. There was no way around taking a pit stop now, unless he was planning on finding himself having to bail out on a random junkie system that more likely than not would be crawling with characters who all require a quick laser bolt between the eyes. Trying to drive a bargain from a bunch of holed-up smuggler-friendlies who live on nothing but cocaine and the occasional death-stick was not exactly the kind of side-step he was in the mood to take. Besides, they were still bordering Hutt territory, an idea he did not settle with.

Still. That's another thing he got for letting his drinking get carried away. If he hadn't, they'd already be better off. He'd already have a good million credits under his belt from the Separatists. That is if they were still holding out that policy at this stage of the galactic war, remembering what Aurra Sing had suggested on Nal Hutta. Nonetheless, they'd be there, not _here_.

_Never happening again_, Cad told himself as he landed _Hand _down on the small, cold swamp system of Nar Kaaga, which had been sitting in the back of his mental map. He would never let his desire for relief from the damned headache drive him so far as to drink himself mad. Not as long as the odds of survival were on such shortage. Or as long as Blythe was in this state.

Soon, he promised himself. _Very _soon since the drinking didn't cure it anymore. He would slide a handful of credits over to one of the Separtist-friendly medics on the Bastion system and find out what was causing the headache. Also, it certainly wouldn't hurt to get the rest of his injuries looked at.

Once _Hand _had landed, Cad exited the ship to orally send in his order to the money hungry Bith tapping his foot outside. Almost as if it were a pain, Cad reached into his back pocket and fingered for some credits. He heard Blythe stir from her own place in the cockpit as she got up to follow him. At that, Cad turned and shot her a glance. A quick but unavoidable silent command. It was a command he would have to give her from now on after seeing what had happened on Nal Hutta.

_Stay. No working. You're done._

* * *

><p>As Cad left to pay and wait for the tank to refuel, Blythe backed up until she had returned to the small excuse for a bed against the wall behind the cockpit. It had been her sole comfort for the last couple days, and while it was too small for the both of them to share, there were other pieces of furniture in the ship that brought out enough satisfaction for him. And as long as he was satisfied, she didn't care.<p>

To him it was a meaningless command. To order Blythe not to stray into the community to look for her own 'customers'. All it meant was he had learned from his miscalculation about what a pregnant girl like her could do after unlearning any and every form of self-protection. Not to mention bringing harm to the infant would cause extra damage that he felt was unnecessary at the moment, especially considering the circumstances. And it seemed a logical conclusion to come to, and he thought little of it.

However, to Blythe, it was much more than that.

No more working. No more doing her job at the next small town or community or sleazy cantina. What had happened on Nal Hutta—and hell, every single system every year since the year she turned six years old—would never happen again.

For the first time she only belonged to one. Not whoever and however many, but just one.

She could scarcely wrap her mind around such a concept.

Because for her two months had been long enough to at least know how he worked and where his preferences lie. He savored every moment he could catch someone off-guard. He hated being told what to do even if it paid well. He liked taking the reins in every meaning of the term, and not once in these past two months had she seen him break. Not like Orett Solarin's men and women who broke when they just couldn't take it and were starved soon afterward as punishment. This was completely different. Even when she thought he was not going to last the night with his wounds, he did _not _break.

She could not think of any good reason why he would give her such a command to give up her services. She could make money for him, couldn't she? He had once made it clear that any job that paid well was a job worth doing, so money was important. Why would it not be important for her to make money? There was no reason for her not to.

Unless, by some chance, it meant just as to _him _as it did to _her _that she only belonged to one. It was a possibility that had never crossed her mind before.

Maybe. Just, maybe. Even if it was true, she would never know for sure.

Blythe curled up her legs in the seat as she looked out the window of _Sleight of Hand_. The last of the evening light was trickling out of the skies. Frighteningly long shadows stretched across the empty streets of the small town. It did not ease the uneasy thoughts weighing down her mind. Her throat felt dry. She was thirsty.

One of these days, she was probably going to break too.

Recently, it had become less simple that just feeling _sick_. Now the pangs tingled up her stomach just about every day. It didn't matter if they were bailing out of a station about to explode, or if he eased into her more patiently so nothing was damaged, a tactic which he apparently how to perform with skill on a pregnant woman. Now she could feel the sickness almost every day. Nothing stopped or hindered it from coming.

Her throat contracted as she felt a wave of nausea. She wished she could lean over and throw up to be rid of the sickness, but her stomach was empty. Even forcing herself to do it wouldn't work if nothing was going to come out. Instead, as she watched the twilight melt into nightfall through the cockpit windshield, her hand rested over her belly, trying to feel that little life inside.

He was still outside, waiting. He was carelessly spinning his pistol around one hand, pacing back and forth. Blythe looked out and watched him for a moment, and realized just how thirsty she was.

One of these days, when she did break, it was probably safe to say that he would not like that about her at all. And then maybe he would get rid of her. Leave her somewhere or just shoot her like he shot the men on Nal Hutta.

Odds withstanding it was only a matter of time, in Blythe's mind, before that happened.

The sound of a rumbling ship passed by, but Blythe was too sick to realize that the sound stopped and hovered over the refueling station, and lowered slowly onto the ground. Instead, she resorted to imagining how an ice-cold glass of Membrosia would feel on her tongue, trying to remember how that tasted. Her eyes drifted towards the interior of the ship. Her arms shook as she hugged her knees fiercely. All she knew was her thirst.

She didn't see that the unknown, unseen ship had landed down on the station, or that Cad had lit his third cigarette that evening as he looked on lazily. She didn't see that the first leathery, gaunt Weequay figure stepped into the fading light, a pirate bandanna wrapped around its head.

By the time she would see, it would be too late.

_Oh, Force... _She was so thirsty. Blythe wanted to get a drink from the conservator, but when she tried her legs turned wobbly as if they were boneless.

She gasped as she sat back down. What was that feeling in her stomach? It felt like, waves. Cold, rancid waves that were stronger each time they came back.

She just faintly heard the rising voices outside.

_Medicine_, she thought at last. She must find some medicine. If she had medicine, she would be able to stand up again, and then she would feel better. Must get medicine.

Another wave came. Blythe pressed her chest against her knees. Somehow she knew it was a bad time for something like this to be starting.

Very bad time.

* * *

><p>"Maybe I should've stayed on Nal Hutta instead'a bailin' out so soon," Shahan Alama said. Behind him stood a line of four scurvy-looking pirates. His highly-conditional friends under the circumstances.<p>

There was something about a Weequay who considered himself a bounty hunter having an invisible contract signed to any band of this type of mercenary, the same sort of contract one would expect from a distantly-related second-cousin's aunt who so-called _spontaneously_ shows up at your door the moment word happens to get out you won the Dathomir lottery. No cold hard facts proved its existence just yet, but every now and then it popped up, especially in the hands of a certain Hondo Ohnaka whenever the guy was short a few hands to finish some dirty work of his.

It wasn't so bad, though. Pirates had their academic skills, but the majority of those were stuck within the gambling and weapons departments. Not that Hondo Ohnaka was a helpless romantic to be trifled with for kicks.

"Why do you say that?" Cad calmly replied. Inside, he was beginning to feel even more peeved. Leave it to pirates to fuck off the rest of his day. He leaned on his right leg to hide the lightsaber wound. For now, it wasn't exactly the type of injury to be showing off as a battle scar.

"Imagine it. You'd be lying right down next to a Jedi corpse."

His red eyes flashed across the stances of the four Weequay pirates. All were armed in some form. At least two were probably as drunk as he had been several nights before.

Well, what did you expect from goddamn pirates. They were almost as bad as smugglers. And don't even _start _him thinking about smugglers.

Shahan Alama bristled, but Cad was too quick for him.

"Instead of doing something called using your head, I find you with fucking pirates behind you." Cad spread his lips into a small sneer and snickered. "You're pitiful."

"Just smart and on top of _my _game," Alama corrected, his eyes flashing with anger. "Broxin is so generous with his offers that all of us are up for a little splitting." He raised a silver pistol. "Now, Bane, are you going to put your hands up and take a little walk with us? Or are you going to make things harder on yourself?"

Indeed. The things folks do when the one handing out bounties wasn't about to start reporting them to the authorities. Now Alama was right behind Tukoga Noth and Ael.

And frankly, that was all right with Cad Bane. Fuck it, Alama was a fellow bounty hunter. One practically anticipated it to happen sooner or later. One looked forward to it like a regular galactic citizen would to having the relatives over for a holiday weekend. Still, Shahan Alama must either have had a favor he owed them, or he was just another crackhead in need of cash. In either case...

"Alama, you came to the wrong place."

There was a pause. A hesitation.

"Well?" Alama demanded.

Cad lowered his gaze and slowly shook his head.

"_Well_? What's your answer already?"

Behind Alama the small band of pirates bristled.

There was the sound of metal grinding against the inside of a leather holster, gone as soon as it had come, and then the first Weequay pirate fell.

* * *

><p>The first shots fired made Blythe feel as if she were choking on a red-hot ember. Then she gasped, collapsed to the floor, and began to be sick.<p>

When she was younger, sometime after her initiation day, the older girls had told her it would be like this. The first time it was always the hardest to believe.

_You're still healthy now, little Lethan, _they had said, _but give it a few years and you'll see._

In a few years, they had said, you'll find yourself lying facefirst on a hard floor wishing you were dead. Everything from your mouth to your fingertips will hurt in all kinds of ways. If you have a baby, you should kill it fast. Both of you will die soon, anyway. This is what Orett Solarin tell us.

And now Blythe found herself in that exact place, except at the same time she was trying to bite on her tongue, as sounds of violence raged within twenty feet outside. Chilling to think how accurate the older girls' description had been. Her throat was in flames as bile rose up her throat and splattered onto the floor. Her palms dug into the floor. Her gag reflex swelled. What mess she had made consisted of nothing but a few edibles and that morning's medicine, and then that of the night before.

Inch by inch, she pulled her head out of the mess on the floor. Her shoulders jerked.

"Cad?" she whimpered. She could not stop shaking. Then her stomach, although empty, forced her to heave all over again.

Outside, she heard a voice. Someone had shouted, cursed, then fell to arouse another similar shout that was more of surprised anger. Neither had been his voice.

"_Cad_?" Blythe blinked the vomit out of her eyes. The voice had belonged to a Weequay, most likely a male, with the unlikely exception of him being some sort of drag queen. Blythe heard a scream, the sort of scream made by one who was about to die and didn't wish for it. She knew that scream.

More shots stabbed the air. She trembled with fright as the echo trembled down the halls of _Sleight of Hand _and the refueling station.

What was she supposed to do? Suppose they knew she was here and would come for her. Suppose Bane Cad was shot. What would she do then?

Oh, shit, what would she do?

The sound of an exploding thermal detonator sent a tremor through the ship. Blythe tried to scream but her mouth was full of vomit. She wanted to stand up more than anything. She wanted the sounds to cease.

What if they had shot him? Could he hold himself up in a fight if he was hurt?

Oh, no. _Please_ not that.

She didn't want to die. She didn't want him to die. Not _now_.

And yet the midst of Blythe's panic, one sensible thought managed to ring through.

Get the ship _out_ of here. It has to be ready to leave as soon as he comes back. It was the only good thing she could do for him and for her, right here and right now.

Blythe sucked in a gulp of air and pushed herself up until she was back in the chair. Her eyes began to scan the seemingly endless sea of controls. In a count of only several seconds, as the fight outside went on, she had to retrieve every memory she had of piloting ships, which mounted to little more than the basics she had picked up on-and-off in the past handful of years. Trying to remember what she had never been taught, much less allowed, to remember. Telling herself that maybe she wasn't as much of a stupid pleasure girl as everyone even Cad told her she was. Come on, Blythe, even autistic younglings can do this sort of thing.

She heard another scream, as though in pain. This time, the tone of voice had changed.

"Wait, Alama, don't leave me—"

Blythe heard a blaster go off. Something popped in her chest.

Don't look, Blythe. You don't want to see.

So she didn't, as her fingers slid over the controls and her eyes read and re-read the lines of Basic symbols. Even autistic younglings can do this..._come on_.

It was just as good she didn't look. Otherwise, Blythe would have seen a string of dead pirates sprawled over the floor of the fueling station, their bodies having been tossed around by laser bolts. She would have smelled the burnt flesh and would have been sick again. She would have seen Shahan Alama crouching behind a tall crate, fearing for his life as a black hole in his left arm burned, clutching his blaster and knowing his comrades all lay dead behind him.

* * *

><p>Meanwhile, Bane saw all of it, and he liked it. He liked killing pirates in a way.<p>

Even when it didn't offer a week's worth of income.

He glanced towards the spot Alama had hidden for cover, still breathless from the little skirmish. His left wrist gauntlet had suffered minor damage from a laser bolt, and a bruise was forming on his shoulder from where two pirates had attempted to slam him into a stack of crates. Luckily, that had turned fatal on their part thanks to the thermal detonator, but it had held Alama off long enough for him to duck for cover.

"You can't hide, Alama," he said to the chilly night air of the station.

As if in reply, Alama fired three or so shots from his spot, missing pitifully.

_Of course, last time I enjoyed getting some fun out of an old partner, I got the whole Corrino family coming for me._

Not that he was afraid of them, of course.

And then, as if on cue, the high-pitched shriek of an approaching smaller but faster ship penetrated the air above the station, something Blythe heard this time.

Blythe, still inside, hesitated. Her throat began to choke again. Just when she had thought it was all over. She looked out from the windshield. It was a starfighter of some sort, but like nothing she'd seen before, perhaps from a system she had never been to.

Bane looked up—seconds later he would have thrown a thermal detonator at Alama's hiding place. He grinned sarcastically to himself when the emerging figure from the starfighter showed its face. By then, the last of the twilight was gone, and had left the second half of the half-rehearsed orchestra piece to perform in the little brightness the station offered.

It had been far too easy a fight to be that simple.

Now all of his lucky cards had been used up.

"Embo..." So _here_ was the other move to the dance.

"Hope you can put up a good fight, Bane."

"Come on, pal." Bane fired at him, and the Kyuzo slipped out of the way like a Corellian dancer. He grabbed the edge of his shield-hat and threw it into the air.

Bane cringed. That lame excuse for a hat had reopened the lightsaber wound. He glanced up at Embo, who was coming towards him fast with his bowcaster prepared to fire. Bane couldn't recall ever dueling a Kyuzo warrior before, much less someone with skills on the same level on that of Embo's.

Which made him wonder how much Embo might have bribed Alama and the pirates to create a diversion for him, as so far all but one had all turned out to be useless in the end.

Could he take this guy on minus one gauntlet, plus his healing injuries?

Well. Looks like there wasn't room for him to choose _now_.

Bane activated his thrusters, leaned forward, and drew out his blasters. His back braced for the impact. Embo jumped, spun—Bane saw something swoosh three feet ahead and then his jaw throbbed. He struck the blurred green face in front of him, then parried the second kick. Embo landed hard on the ground, but jumped right back up. He caught his hat as it spun towards him in the air and arched his arm back again, only to lose his footing when Bane's cable coiled around his wrist. Dropping his bowcaster to pull out a dagger, Embo sliced the cable off with one sweep. In front of him, the wiry blue figure nearly struck him with several blasts, missing by less than centimeters.

Bane clenched his teeth as he reignited his thrusters and closed in towards Embo, who jumped and spun in a kick. Several shots from Alama knocked one thruster off-balance. One of Bane's blasters was knocked out of his hand. He sent in a quick roundkick as a counteract while he regained balance in the air. Embo rolled to the ground and reached for his bowcaster.

A breath later, Bane's flamethrower ignited the station floor, temporarily setting off a fiery brilliance. Shouting, the Kyuzo jumped back. He'd come within inches of being fried to a black crisp. Smoke choked the air as a few pirate corpses caught aflame, only adding to the growing stench of burning Weequay flesh. Embo dived out of the second swing of fire by a hair.

Then, behind the two bounty hunters, _Sleight of Hand_ rumbled to life.

Bane blinked. A twang of surprise snagged him for a split second.

_So Blythe knows how to actually do something besides—_

He might not need a new techno-service droid as soon as he thought. _Hah_. What a laugh.

Embo leaped forward, preparing to strike him with a crescent kick. Bane swerved back. He launched his thrusters and backed up several feet towards _Hand. _As Embo yanked a thermal detonator off his belt, he hissed at the motion.

"_You're a cocksucking coward_," Embo said in his language. Unfortunately for him, Bane knew that language as well.

"_What_ did you call me?" Bane snarled under his breath, just before he narrowly escaped another series of blasts from Alama's rifle.

Embo dove to the side, cutting off his path to _Sleight of Hand_. Bane shot out his cable. This time it coiled around Embo's neck and yanked Bane's opponent towards him. Bane clouted him across the face with his blaster and was about to give him another plus a laser bolt to the chest, only to recieve a sudden blow to his still-healing ribs. A hollow grunt escaped his throat at the impact. He felt himself back up as Embo struck the same spot again. Bane had to fight back the urge to shout in pain.

"Hit something there." Embo slid back, his yellow eyes glowing with ideas.

Behind them, Alama made a dash out from his place, gripping the rifle in his hands.

Before Bane could get fully back on his feet Embo kicked him again, this time right across the lightsaber wound. He gasped and reached for his hidden third blaster. Yet another kick brought him to his knees. Humiliating. Bane dug one palm into the rock and stared at the ground, using the moment to get his breath back.

_Shit_. He sure hated pirates.

"Don't move," Embo whispered, knowing the exact opposite idea was on his opponent's mind.

Out of the corner of Bane's eye, he saw a flash of brilliant dark red silhouetted against a light not from the skies.

Embo spun around, seeing the flash as well.

"_Cad_...!" It was a shout of horror.

Embo's eyes locked on Blythe as she stood at the first steps of the docking ramp, looking down, fear all over her face at the sight. Artifical light poured out from _Sleight of Hand's _interior and out onto the littered ground. Automatically he could tell she wasn't in Bane's ship by accident, but neither was she another mercenary or gun-for-hire. Far from it, actually. On second glance, Embo thought, she _was _probablysomething-for-hire, but not a gun.

As soon as he had heard Blythe's shout, Bane rolled to the side and back to his feet, yanking out his blaster. Embo's body twisted to the side as his shoulder ate a laser bolt, but he quickly held his hat out in front of him, which he used as a deflector shield of some sort. He was careful to stand between the Duros and his ship. Bane continued to fire as he slowly rose back to his full height.

"Cad, _help_...!" Blythe cried again.

Bane's eyes brightened. Alama was running towards her.

_What the hell is he planning...? _Bane wondered, although he already knew the answer.

The bounty, of course. Embo and Alama needed both of them. And Blythe was easy prey for any hunter.

Blythe tried to run back into _Hand_, but she was a second too late. Alama, who had run up the docking ramp as Embo held off Bane, pointed his rifle at her. Blythe made a small cry, frozen in place.

"'Ello, pretty," Alama said, seconds before he raised the butt of the rifle.

Blythe was tossed back from the blow to her jaw. Her hands automatically went to her stomach as she was shoved to the side.

Bane bristled when he heard her scream. Embo continued to back away, holding up his hat, as Bane fired at him. A second shot put a reasonable dent in the side of his hat.

"_None of us can run forever_," Embo said in his own language, then grimaced as the wound in his shoulder must have stung an extra bit. In his open hand he tossed out the grenade as a final setback. Then Embo backed into his starfighter and closed the windshield once he was inside the cockpit. The half a million grand of credits on his old partner's head had decided it would not come about today. Embo would have to draw his lucky card some other time.

Now with Embo gone, Bane reignited his thrusters and advanced up towards _Hand_. His eyes locked on Alama, still on the docking ramp, taking aim with his blaster. Alama had struck her again with his rifle. Blythe's legs crumpled and she fell down on the docking ramp, as _Hand _began to lift from the ground.

Bane landed at the foot of the ramp. Every second counted. He raised the blaster while subtly covering the lightsaber wound with his other hand.

"Shahan...!"

It was the first and last time he called the fellow bounty hunter by his first name.

The Weequay turned away from Blythe, who was burying her face in her arms, and looked up. Terror at hearing his first name made him stop. A phrase dangled from his tongue as he realized he was staring right into the barrel of Cad Bane's pistol. But Shahan never got to say it, and his body was tossed back as it ate three, four, five laser bolts to the chest, and he let out one last sound of shock and horror, and the life was sucked out of his eyes as he tumbled off the side of the docking ramp and down onto the unwelcoming ground.

..._never took you for the type to be slapping around helpless girls._

Just as the ramp was closing behind him, Bane made his way to the doorway, taking Blythe by the arm and dragging her behind him. She was crying aloud, close to sobbing, but she kept going. Thank the stars the tank had been filled up before they departed, for the most part at least.

Only when the ship was out of the atmosphere and safe in auto-pilot did Bane turn and see the damage Alama had done to Blythe. Blood ran down the side of her head, and she was breaking out in a cold sweat, tears mixing with perspiration.

We did it, Blythe, she told herself wordlessly.

We might not be able to do anything right—but we did it.

* * *

><p><em>Revision Note:<em>

_I cleaned up a lot of Blythe's POV in the earlier part. The fight scene with Bane and Embo was so precious I barely touched it because I loved writing it so much._


	17. This Restless Warrior

_"Space Bound"_

_Chapter Seventeen: This Restless Warrior_

* * *

><p><em>"There's a calm surrender to the rush of day<em>  
><em>When the heat of the rolling world can be turned away<em>  
><em>An enchanted moment, and it sees me through<em>  
><em>It's enough for this restless warrior just to be with you<em>

_And can you feel the love tonight_  
><em>It is where we are<em>  
><em>It's enough for this wide-eyed wanderer<em>  
><em>That we got this far"<em>

_-Elton John, "Can You Feel the Love Tonight"_

* * *

><p>"How many hours will it be <em>this <em>time...?"

Cad Bane slid his handful of credit chips over to the Pantoran, who was only visible through the small peephole in the door.

"Twelve. No more, no less."

"Just twelve, are you sure?"

"If I wasn't sure, I wouldn't be standing here with a blaster aimed at your sorry guts, now would I?"

"Oh, sure, sure. Twelve hours is no problem at all..." The hole was shut and the door quickly opened, revealing a five-foot male Pantoran holding a medical datapad in a left hand that was missing a ring finger. Bane stepped inside to the musty dankness of the small medical facility. The Pantoran turned and shut the door behind him the second he was through, stumbling over his own tongue as he spoke.

"Please, please, Mr. Bane, tell me what it was this time. Do you need your brain examined again to make sure those Jedi didn't do you damage from that little mind-trick practice?"

"Not quite," Bane said, wishing the comment hadn't made him think of the headache, which had endured long after the incident on Nar Kaaga,

"You don't—" the Pantoran's tenor voice trailed for a minute as he stole a second glance at the bounty hunter. That time, he noticed the skinny Twi'lek walking alongside him, hidding in the dusty shadows. If one could call that walking. "You don't look too good, do you?"

"Don't waste my time with your idea of flattery, Ihtak. I have better things to do than hang around here."

"All right, all right, sure, I understand. We'll get you and your little friend patched up without a problem. Now, what is it I'll be getting my fingers into this time? Really, I'm dying to know." To prove himself, the Pantoran rubbed his hands together, revealing a hole in the back of one hand where a middle knuckle should have been, as well as a nasty scar across the opposite thumb.

"Lightsaber," said Bane.

Blythe could not bear to part her eyes from the floor. She swallowed hard.

"Regeneration spray," Ihtak replied without so much as a grin or the raise of an eyebrow. "Regeneration spray, that will fix you better than anything. Leaves a noticable scar, but I'll see how much I can keep on before we start pulling things out."

"Just get it done."

"Follow me, then. The girl, she can go to this room here. I'll see what I can do for _her_." Ihtak's lone front tooth bit down on his lower lip as he pointed to the opposite room, from which at least twice as more light erupted. Blythe found herself entering that room, alone, wordless to whatever these strangers were going to probe her with. Bane glanced at the way she was limping, her hand pressed gently against the side of her head. Then he turned back to the Pantoran, who led the way into the main room.

The walls of Ihtak's idea of a hospital bay, were pale—not white, but reminiscent what could have once been a form of it, but now resembled more like that of the face of a corpse whithered under the sun. Small black rivers of chips and cracks coiled around the glass holes for windows. Behind where Bane sat down on a cold metal bed, sparse and dusty medical equipment lined up against what little furniture there was. An operation table, a minature bacta tank, a counter littered with unorganized needles and injections—other than that, not much else.

Bane did not think it ironic that he saw this pathetic excuse for a medical room as a personal advantage of his. When most anyone else would pass it off as the residence of a psychopathic retired surgeon on an uncharted moon, he could waltz right in and know he was not going to walk away worse off than when he came. All it required was a few credits, a chunk out of your week, and you were good to go. Neither was it that ironic that the location of Ihtak's facility, unfortunately, was also most likely to be on the list of that of other bounty hunters, a certain Kyuzo mercenary currently chasing a half a million credit bounty.

As Ihtak retreated to the other room where Blythe was waiting, a medical droid approached Bane and ran a brief bio-scan over the lightsaber wound. It also administered a liquid medication through a needle. Bane only needed a second or two to figure out it was a pain-killer.

"You are lucky that the Jedi weapon did not puncture any deeper," the medical droid said coldly, its bulbs for eyes flickering with calculations.

Bane tore off the broken gauntlet as the droid applied a layer of regeneration spray over the gash. A chemical-like stinging settled in, much like bleach on bare skin, but it was soon replaced by cool relief. The droid then made a comment about the fall to the rocks compromising half of one of his shoulders, requesting a second bio-scan. From the other room, audible through the open doorway, Ihtak could be heard talking to Blythe in a low sing-song way, as if she were a youngling, as he put a bacta strip on her head.

"I'll send the bio-scans to the doctor for further anaylization," said the medical droid.

"You really want to do that?"

"The doctor always insists on it." If the droid had been able to, he most likely would have yawned at that point, he sounded so mundane.

"Fine. Then get on with it," he muttered, as the droid applied a second layer of regeneration spray. Within twenty minutes it was already starting to do its job. If Bane concentrated, he could literally feel it repairing his burned flesh, sewing it back together with a pair of ice-cold invisible hands. Of course, it always felt good to know one was having life put back into him instead of having it sucked out. Always felt good.

As the medical droid wheeled out of the room, Bane checked his coat pockets to see if he had any spare credits on him, which he did. Ever since he had ordered Blythe to stop working, he'd had a small but tasty idea forming in the back of his mind. It was far from imperative, but still one he couldn't resist. A quick trip to the nearby small town—which barely even qualified as a town by his standards—and a pawn-shop he was acquainted with, should do enough to satisify that idea.

He didn't need Blythe walking around carrying the appearance of someone who belonged to the industry he had just bailed her out of. She needed to be able to blend again. It was the right sort of attention she would need from here on out.

Ihtak reappeared out of the room. Bane slowly stood up and gestured for him to come closer for a moment. As Ihtak did, he began massaging the hole in the back of his hand.

"About your girlfriend, she's past two months pregnant in case you didn't know. Did what I could for now. but she needs more than just twelve hours' work, and I can't even do that here. I'm used to handling folks who are beaten up, and, not screwed up."

"Is there a place not far away we can stay a bit?"

"A _bit_, is that a couple days, Mr. Bane, or—" Then the doctor stopped, for he at least knew the ways of the bounty hunter to some degree from observations on the in-and-out customers of his. "Several hours or so? Before you head out again? I get it, Mr. Bane. In fact, I now rent out a small apartment upstairs. It will suit to your liking well—and this week has been good to me, so I won't even charge for a full night. Anything else you need, then?" He rubbed his pastel-blue hands together.

"Yeah. Get the girl upstairs. I have to take a quick run out." Bane headed for the door, still gently dabbing his side to feel the spray working, but turned around at the last second. "By the way, Ihtak, what did the medical droid's bio-scans say about my head?"

"What do you mean, your head? The Jedi mind trick from way back when?"

"_No_, these nasty headaches I get. It started about two months ago and it isn't quitting."

The Pantoran raised his index finger to his chin and tapped exactly twice, looking at Bane like one would at a sudden warning of internal error on a datapad.

"Well, Mr. Bane, I apologize a lot, but I can't help you there."

"The hell does that mean?"

"My, the bio-scan said nothing about something wrong with your head. It just said the little lightsaber cut of yours, the fall, and the bad arm. That was _it_. Nothing about your head."

* * *

><p>By the time Cad Bane had finished his run out to the pawn shop a quarter of a mile off, daylight had just begun to peek up over the horizon, and the energy spent in his duel against Embo and Shahan was beginning to take its toll. The barren lands of the uncharted moon, reminiscent of Geonosis or Utapau, were splattered with pale sun-kissed streams of sunrise. Rocky landscapes transitioned from shades of dark blue to soft purple, as the small town hanging on to life by its fingertips opened its eyes to a new day. Here, the climate consisted of below freezing at night and just above freezing and dusty at day. No wonder it had never been claimed by the Hutts.<p>

When he returned, Bane was told the Lethan had gone upstairs and was currently using the refresher. Eight hours, Ihtak then added—they had eight hours in the apartment all to themselves. Which was just fine for Bane. Eight was the magic number. Not too long, not too short, and right next door to the first double-digit. It would give Ihtak's work more than enough time to set in and heal the rest of his injuries as well as grant them some overdue relaxation. Sleeping for seven out of those eight sounded luxurious. But he doubted the headache would permit such a luxury.

Bane shut the door behind him and sat down in the nearest chair, which was in fact the lone chair in the entire two-room apartment. A floor below, he could hear Ihtak talking to himself again. He leaned forward with his forearms on his knees, considering how hard it could be to fall asleep with a thousand hammers behind one's eyes.

His cigarette died out. Without hesitation, he lit another one, savoring the taste long and thoughtfully. At least nicotine could keep the headache at bay, if only for certain stretches. It was better than relying on drunkenness, anyway. Cheap, too.

Nothing wrong with his head, huh?

Some medical droid.

But even now, that was not what bothered him.

Bane found himself glaring into the darkness, as if to chase it away and make things clear a. The apartment carried the layered stenches of its previous users with a fitting blend of death-stick smoke, hyperdrive oil, and cheap metal. His cold red eyes ached from lack of sleep, as he began to recall the conversation that had taken place a mere hour ago with his employer from Coruscant, the same one who granted him a reward for the death of three Corrino brothers.

_"The one million credits for the execution of a Jedi, I'm afraid, is unattainable."_

_"What kind of bantha-shit is that?"_

_"Oh, we apologize if this poses any—inconvenience for you, bounty hunter." _Inconvenience. What a dirty word.

_"In case it slipped your mental datapads, we had a deal. I take down a Jedi, you pay me. Which part of that is _unattainable_ to you?"_

_"Not unattainable in my case, but in the case of the circumstances."_

_"Explain yourself. I want my money_, _and fast."_

_"I have no need nor desire to go into details. I am assured you as well as any other mercenary will trust this same reply Do not protest our decision or we shall be forced to further persuade you. When I am in further need of your services, I will contact you. But do not expect anything for some time."_

And then the hologram signal from Coruscant had been lost.

Bane glanced at the time. During his run out, a hologram message on his comlink had come in from a client on the Coruscant system, which he of course had responded to when alone. That brief, ominous conversation would have been almost an hour ago now. An hour since one million guaranteed-as-fucking credits had been wrung out of his hands.

Hell to those Separatists scumbags. _Now _what was he supposed to do?

Since the war was almost over, though, he couldn't entirely blame them. Still.

Bane sat up, choking down a rather bitter taste in his throat. His fresh cigarette hung out of the edge of his mouth, smoking wafting up less than inches from his eyes.

Could this strange action be linked to the_ last _time he had been ripped off? Cad Bane remembered when a good thirty grand was slipped out of the deal after he had killed Gasta, Kel, and Sexen Corrino, with no explanation attached. It was the exact same thing happening to him all over again. It had come back around for another bite like a targeting missle.

Could it possibly have something to do with the so-called 'warning' Sing had gotten all un-Sing-like about on Nal Hutta?

Who was to say?

And what could he do about it?

The bounty hunter knows when to lay low, yes, but also when it is best to keep moving and stay light on one's feet. The bounty hunter has to know all the locations, names of hiding spots, and manners of speaking and passing around credits. This is because he never knows when the catching-your-breath routine will slip into the one of catching-one's-_last_-breath, and one moves from system to system, leaving behind not one crumb of a trace, not at lightning speed but never slowing or stopping, until the smoke clears and one is ready to tackle the next set of tallies. When the credits stop rolling in, and the so-called 'budget' is tight, that is when the real glory and pride of the bounty hunter shines, when he can keep swimming and wait patiently for that next hiring to sail in. If there exists a next hiring at all, that is.

_"Something different is going on. Or something different's about to happen."_

Too tired to think, Bane tore off his coat and got out of the chair. He began walking towards the refresher, unable to hear anything from inside except a few small splashes of water. After tossing away the cigarette, he cracked open the door. He wondered in what sort of state he would find Blythe in. If she would be wearing anything. If she was even awake. When he discovered her, he couldn't help but crack a small, toothy grin.

The water in the bathub concealed Blythe's legs up to the knee, but was draining out and leaving behind a creamy residue on her skin. One of her elbows was pinned against the inside wall. A bacta patch covered the bump Shahan Alama had put on her head. Her lekku trailed over her shoulders and breasts. Her chin dipped as she stretched one foot out to the end of the tub.

Maybe Blythe also was too tired to think, too tired to worry about the diseases and the bruises. Maybe Blythe could give him a few answers, as to what Embo would do next, why they were going to Coruscant, and what was causing this goddamn headache. His grin spread into a crooked smile as he leaned against the doorway, tipping his hat to her in an oddly polite sort of way.

"You look lonely in there," he said, his voice cracking on the first two syllables.

Blythe had a difficult time holding back a small, throaty giggle.

"Did that pirate slap you around a little too much?" He took out the breathing tubes, and in a long mastered technique, rolled his shirt back from his shoulders to reveal the dark bruises on his ribs and the new scar across his side. His fingers curled over the edge of the tub as his eyes remained fixed, long and hard, on Blythe's reply.

"Yeah, he did. Just in all the wrong places."

"Thinking about the circumstances I'll go nice an' easy this time," he said, leaning closer towards her and bending forward. "How's some nice n' easy sound, little lady."

"Long as you're happy, Cad."

By then, all the water had been drained, leaving Blythe lying in front of him naked and wet and shivering. He liked her that way.

What did he want? Did he want control? Did he want to be whom he had always been? Or something completely different and vulnerable and submissive?

_I know what I want. I want to know you're not the little red girl anymore._

Blythe snatched the front of his pants with one hand, and he with the other, dragging them down to his boots. He dragged one leg inside the tub. His hand slid down and gently folded over her lekku, holding all her memories. All that made her who she was.

"Go ahead, Blythe. Tell me to do something."

_I don't care anymore. Just take control. I don't give a shit about it, Blythe. I won't ask for it ever again if you do it just this once._

_I can make sense of all that crazy shit tomorrow if you just do this today._

"Tell you to what?" she asked quietly.

"Anything, beautiful."

"Then keep your hat on." Her smile spread. She leaned in.

"That's the spirit."

For a little while, he woult not have to think about the one million credits he had just lost to the war effort, or so called.

Blythe caressed her lips over his mouth. Her head tilted up. His fingers glided up her lekku and coiled around her neck to pull her closer. She playfully stuck out the tip of her tongue and she felt his mouth crack open against hers. At first Cad hesitated, but he couldn't for long and he leaned down into her. Blythe flinched a bit when his teeth bit down on her lower lip. In reply, her tongue glazed over his teeth and tickled the roof his mouth, sending a white-hot pulse through his veins. He let out a throaty grunt before biting again. To steady herself, Blythe pressed a hand against the wall.

Cad leaned even closer until her wet stomach was pressed against his. He inched his mouth down her neck as his hands went to the insides of her thighs and slowly began to stimulate her. Her leg slid up his side. She gasped with a calm pleasure as his hands tightened and his thumbs caressed over her lower abdomen. As she felt herself opening up, her fingers played along the rim of his hat, leaving scratches with her fingernails. Every time she scratched, the pulse inside him spiked in temperature to the point of all-out detonation.

She felt her legs spread farther apart. Blythe grinned shyly as she balanced her elbow on the inside wall and draped her arm over the front of his hat.

"Oh, Cad," she cried.

"Does it hurt?" he asked close to her ear.

"No. Not a bit. Keep yer hat on. Think I like that hat." Then, as if to prove herself, she scratched again and kissed him on the mouth.

His fingers dug in farther, but she controlled it. She gradually tilted her hips from side to side, deciding what direction they would go. Without missing a beat, Cad rose up to his knees until his back was against the wall behind him. Blythe pushed herself up and began kissing his abdomen, as he cradled her lekku in his now-soaked hands. Her lips felt soft and cold. She bared her teeth, tracing farther and farther down until it was her turn to nibble at his skin. At that, he lost control over the sounds coming out of his throat. His muscles tightened against her wet, frail body. Her index finger traced, delicately, the scar from the lightsaber wound, which left him all but breathless.

"I feel dirty," she whispered, and squeezed him by the arm.

Cad raised his fingers and licked luxuriously at the liquid that had collected on them, enjoying the taste.

"I would be more worried if you felt clean."

"I can't reach my back."

Blythe heard his breath quicken as her grip on his arm tightened. She felt next to no pain now. If she did feel dirty, it was the kind of filth that erased the questions, the lies, the worries, and the aches that poisoned her, until they were only memories of something they could forget.

Cad grinned. His fingers locked with the small, flat square of soap as his eyes closed so he could better enjoy what she was doing. Then his arms wrapped around her, her lips still grazing his abdomen, and he squeezed the soap on her back. Blythe shut her eyes tight as he began to massage her, pulling her close, scrubbing every dirty thing out of her that she hadn't been able to reach. She whispered something to him, he didn't know exactly what, but it made his hands work harder. If he hadn't been sweating and breathing hard, he would have felt freezing as she pressed him against the wall. Just from the sound of it, he shuddered when Blythe spoke up, her timid voice breaking the silence.

"Your turn."

He gave her control just like before. It had never felt so wonderful to let her hands glide over every inch of him, pressing him against the wall even harder, and wash him clean of all the grime, blood, and sweat until nothing else was between them. She did everything. As long as she didn't stop, it was okay by him.

_This must be dangerous, _he thought as the bounty hunter. But he felt too good to let that thought stay.

When they were done, Cad lifted her out and wrapped her in a clean towel. Once he had dried off, the first thing he put back on was his hat. Despite Blythe's request, it of course, had fallen off.

"Come over here for a second," he said to her, snapping his belt buckle back on. "I bought a little surprise for you while I was out."

"Dangerous to be out, right," she asked, sitting on the edge of the tub. She hugged the towel to her chest as she draped one lekku over her shoulder.

Cad grabbed his shirt, sliding his hand over the scratches Blythe had made in his hat to wipe them off. He braced one arm on the counter behind him and stuck his thumb into his pocket. His gaze couldn't help but catch the drops of soapy water that ran down between her breasts and underneath the towel.

"Well, sure, but I'm starting to like that kind of dangerous."

Blythe looked up, her head leaned back in a casual manner. Cad stood underneath one of the bright lights of the refresher, which highlighted the shadows of his chest muscles and the overlaying scars. Seeing him in this way it dawned on Blythe that he was actually thinner than he had been a month or so ago. It was a peculiar, unsettling realization. The brim of his hat darkened his face which made his red eyes seem to glow. Again, something was different about this eyes, but she couldn't pinpoint what.

She couldn't help but wonder what he was thinking about as he looked down at this girl he bought for thirty-five thousand credits. Or maybe it was _worry _what he was thinking.

Cad stood straight up and moved out of the light, walking towards the door with his shirt draped over his shoulder.

"It's just outside on the chair. Go ahead. I want to see you in it."

"Mean, you mean it's something to wear?" she asked, still watching him. After noticing the amount of weight he had lost, it was more difficult not to look away just yet. She tried to think of a reason why, or if her eyes were simply playing tricks on her, but the longer the thought stayed in her head the more it made her feel cold and a bit frightened.

"Yeah, you're catching on." Cad left the refresher and took off his hat for a moment to pull on his shirt. Behind him, Blythe took the little surprise waiting for her and backed up into the refresher again.

Outside, roaming the galaxy, there must be so many as desperate for cash as Alama or Embo were. There must be so many with a Corrino or Dio on their tail. However many like Embo could take over him in a fight and haul his carcass over to Broxin's doorstep, he couldn't know for sure. However many would never see his little red girl as _Blythe _and only just another sickly Twi'lek girl, must be countless. But for now, they were safe. He might be short all those credits, but they were _safe..._in a cheap but somewhat pleasant apartment at a location a rare few would even think to look. Best of all, the headache was not bothering him for the time being as much as it usually did, thanks to all those cigarettes. That could change anytime soon, however. For eight hours, they could be _safe_. Alone, quiet, the rest of the galaxy something to be forgotten.

Sighing to himself, Cad put his hat back on and sat on the edge of the small unmade bed. He folded his hands in his lap. Just to make sure the headache was really gone, he lit one last cigarette—no, really, that _was _the last onefor the night. It wasn't like he was hooked on them or anything.

The door to the refresher opened all the way. His red eyes flashed. Then he grinned, like a kid who had just hit a target dead-center with his first shot.

"Hel-lo..." He pulled the word out from underneath his tongue piece by piece like a rich taste he were savoring. What stood in front of him was an absolute knockout.

Blythe was wearing a bold mango-orange dress. It was sleeveless and low-cut at the shoulders, below which gold rim left the eye hanging a thread above her exposed cleavage. The midriff was connected at the front but not the sides, concealing her womb to all but the wary eye of someone with a mind like Ihtak's. Golden loops decorated the outside of the sleeves and the collar, dangling and glistening. Finally, the dress cut off just below the knees so there was enough of leg visible to the flesh-seeking eye.

Cad let out a long, low whistle. It was perfect. She didn't look like one of Orett Solarin's projects anymore. She aws just a girl who might happen to belong to someone with a lot of credits. And that was good enough for him. It was just what she needed.

"Turn around."

As she did, Cad noticed how the dress was low-cut to reveal her shoulders and upper back, and yellow swirls over the orange brought out her deep-red complexion. Blythe had never looked so much like fire. Literally, aflame.

_Maybe that explains the headache. I'm burning._

"I'm not very beautiful, Cad." She finished spinning and stared down at the floor, her arms dangling at her sides like she was terribly uncomfortable. "Everyone knows it. Girls like me. Not beautiful. It's all right."

"Shut up. I still make the rules, and I still say you look like a million creds." He stood up and stuck the cigarette in the side of his mouth. "Now. Dance around me."

"Dance?" she echoed.

"Like you did at Hawke Noth. All the way around me."

A ship rumbled past outside, and the reflection of its low neon-green lights danced across the walls. Blythe took a step towards him, trying to smile as she stretched out one arm and her fingers tugged on his shirt collar. She leaned in a bit to press her thigh to his. Her lips parted in a smile. Then her head fell back and she began a dance that was in slow-motion. Hawke Noth Cantina all over again.

The scent of damp freshness on her skin filled his lungs. He had a lengthy drag on the cigarette as Blythe snaked along behind him, her fingers tracing his collarbone. For a moment, her back rolled against his, their shoulders grinding against each other, and Blythe laughed as if she had been tickled.

"Like that?" she asked as she rolled to his side. When she looked into his eyes again, she saw nothing but embers. Dark, Human blood-red embers from the fire she had started. It burned so furiously it seemed almost—painful. As if he was literally in pain just from looking at her. What could it be that was different about his eyes?

"Again, _mesh'la_." He didn't take his gaze off the fire. "Don't you stop."

"I'll never stop..."

As Blythe stepped to his side and started the dance again, Cad Bane took one of her hands and began caressing between her fingers. All he knew, during those early waking hours of the morning, was to let her dance. Let her spin and twist under the first rays of light. Let her do whatever she wanted to do to him. Let _her _take control.

It might be the last time.

Tomorrow could be the day he had to put her out of her misery.

With such a bounty from Broxin hovering over his head, there was no telling how many more times he would come as close to death as he did on Nal Hutta. No telling what would become of Blythe if she fell into the clutches of someone who knew who she was and whom she belonged to. No telling what would have to be done to keep both—or either—of them alive.

He had to play with his fire—be with his little red girl_—_because he might never get to do it again.

If today happened to be Blythe's last day, she should get at least some control.

_Be damn-well ready for it, _Cad thought as he let go of her hand and watched her do a twirl. When he knew it had to happen, he could not hesitate for it in the least bit.

Hesitating was more than pathetic. Hesitating was deadly. He never hesitated.

...even if she was the little red girl.

* * *

><p><em>"We touch I feel a rush<em>  
><em>We clutch it isn't much<em>  
><em>But it's enough to make me wonder what's in store for us"<em>

_-Eminem, "Space Bound"_


	18. A Slim Alliance

_"Space Bound"_

_Chapter Eighteen: A Slim Alliance_

* * *

><p><em>"I want to hear your voices<br>I want to disturb the peace  
>I want you to see me well<br>I want you to understand me"_

_-Rammstein, "Ich Will" (from the English translation)_

* * *

><p>This is what the HoloNet said...<p>

_The Separatist leader, Count Dooku, is dead, as you all know._

_The Separatist leader, General Grievous, has just been discovered on the Utapau system._

_It is only a matter of time before the Clone Wars will come to an end. The final stretch of campaigns against the Republic are merely to further delay the inevitable. Within the new few months, perhaps even less than that, every citizen under the Republic will be celebrating with joy. Systems once torn apart by war will be united in a rebirth. Families separated, villages destroyed, futures left to the dust, will be found and mended again. The streets once littered with rubble and ashes will be overflowing with parades of our heroic clone battalions, and your children's dances, and your fireworks and festivals. Homes will be happy in a million ways. The 'good times' will return. _

_Cheer up and smile!_

_Who knows how wonderful our times will be once the war is over? The Republic, dear citizens, will have never been stronger. Peace, power, and prosperity will be distributed throughout the entire galaxy, to every individual citizen, as it just and pure and true._

_You will applaud with joy on that day. You will eat drink, and cheer with your friends and family. You will be unable not to smile and take summer-like delight in every waking moment. Because the war is almost _over_, and all the death and bloodshed will finally come to an end._

_There will be no more bloodshed. No more treachery. No more darkness._

_—__Sincerely, your beloved Chancellor._

* * *

><p>You are not a pleasure girl. Not even <em>his <em>pleasure girl, Blythe. You are just a companion for the night. You are the Twi'lek with the new dress he met four months ago and cannot help but to show off at a place that reeks of money.

It didn't matter where they would be tonight. Blythe had decided she was not going to let Cad out of her sight, for one split second. Otherwise, she might as well be blood in the water, waiting for the sharks.

He led her down a pattern carpet stairway onto a concrete ground, above which a full choir of beeps, whirrs, and chinks from the Gleaming Fortunes Casino hummed pleasantly. Several floors of the well-renowned Coruscant gambling palace were filled with middle and upperclassmen who hadn't yet spent all their credits for the night. However, down on the ground-level black market sector of the casino, the air was thicker and the drinks quite heavier. Cad Bane stepped over a figure passed out on the floor and his toppled-over chair, ignoring the stray coins that surrounded him in a semi-circle. Raw, grinding sounds could be heard behind the closed curtains that outlined the back of the casino floor. Secondhand machines ravenously wolfed down weary-eyed and drunken-minded creatures' weekend paychecks or midnight winnings, and spat out cards that suggested that they try a second time.

Cad's eyes flickered over the surrounding faces, and he calmly lowered his hat. He knew he should be concerned if the message to meet a certain someone here might have been played as an ambush or trap of some sort. But for some reason, he didn't get a drop of sweat with worry at the thought. Maybe he actually trusted Gleaming Fortunes Casino. Or maybe he just didn't give a shit.

Blythe felt a half-gloved finger cup her by the chin and gently tilt her head upward. She remembered. She had to put on the act.

"Look proud, understand?" he murmured by her ear, "and like you mean it. Smile too, won't you?"

Blythe did just as she was told.

"Do I look like a million creds now?" she had to ask.

"No," he said. "More like twenty million."

The flicker in her eyes was an obvious sign that she hadn't been expecting him to say such a thing. But the Lethan recovered quick enough. She widened her smile and stuck out her chin like she had seen other girls do, hoping it would pull off. Maybe it would hide the fact that she felt terribly uncomfortable in the dress, as she was not used to material of such quality.

"That's good. Very good. Why didn't you show me this sooner? I could have had you doing just fine on Nal Hutta." Cad, of course, didn't expect nor receive a reply.

_Just keep that chin up. Don't you dare look down._

Little did he know Blythe was thinking the exact same thing.

Cad scanned the row of pazaak tables until his eyes locked on a tall, pale figure with a dark ponytail. An automatic but subtle scan of the creatures standing nearest to him confirmed his not-giving-a-shit attitude. None of them were obviously armed, much less giving him any sort of attention. Odds withstanding, an ambush was in the realm of impossibilities tonight.

The tall, pale figure turned around in the chair, gaze turning away from the three Zeltron pole-dancers at the front of the dimly-lit room. Two pairs of eyes met, different in many ways, but similar in so many more, and words were spoken that were silent yet crystal-clear. One responded by tightening an already existing grip, and the other by cracking a subtle smile. One gestured towards a vacant booth in a dank corner, in the back, under a lone, dim florescent light. The other coldly obliged.

As the Zeltrons climbed off the stage and a drunken applause erupted from the crowd, Cad sat down across from their host at the designated booth. Blythe followed quickly into the spot next to his. Backed up from the main source of energy in the room, dialogue and verbal outbursts remained at minimal volume. Flashes of light from the whirring machines were fainter and less fierce, the stench of coins and metal less intense. It was quiet and calming.

* * *

><p>"I probably shouldn't have to tell you," the tall, pale figure spoke in a droid-like tone, "that you must have a lot of guts for showing your face back on Coruscant."<p>

"At least I know you're the one with the guts to sent out a little invitation to me in the first place. Did I pass the gut test, then?"

Aurra Sing's eyes glazed over the Lethan girl, and Sing grinned in a mockingly sweet way, like an irritated mother or nanny.

"Hey there, sweetheart. What's the occasion?" she murmured.

Blythe hesitated, unsure if she knew this woman or not.

Then just as it dawned on Blythe that she might recognize her, the woman lowered her crossed knee to reveal a silver blaster aimed for Cad Bane's stomach.

Blythe's eyes widened. She choked down a gasp of alarm. But Cad did nothing, since it was no surprise to him.

"I called you here on unstable terms, Bane. Don't try anything too testy, or I'll be slapping a high bounty from Broxin against my palm. Do we understand each other?"

For some reason, Aurra Sing felt as if there should have been a reaction of some degree on Bane's part, but there was nothing. His eyes did not flicker, did not change from their solid crimson glow that starkly contrasted the shadows. His gaze did not soften, twist, or harden. It was as if he had not even heard her.

"But that's why we're here, isn't it?" he said.

Sing hesitated, and Cad took it as an open door to keep going.

"You won't accept Broxin's offer because some employer of yours is pointing you in the other direction. You won't accept the Corrino's offer because you know you could squeeze a lot more out of me. You won't shoot me now because I have something that you happen to be short on." He let out a small sigh and leaned back, propping one foot on the table of the booth and folding his hands in his lap. "This puts us in an interesting situation, now, doesn't it?"

Sing didn't show it, but her eyes caught something that made her stop. In the six weeks since she had seen Cad Bane, he had lost a visible amount of weight and not the kind of loss as in hitting the gym every morning. It was enough that she couldn't deny the change after a second glance. But that wasn't all. The color was drained slightly from the corners of his eyes. It was a sign of fatigue or exhaustion on a Duros.

_Shit, _she thought. _He looks like a fucking crack addict._ What did he think he was doing to himself? And for what purpose?

Sing had to yank herself out of her thoughts. Her eyes drifted toward the well-dressed Twi'lek, then back again. She cleared her throat as if to lighten the mood.

"Looks like we need to talk a little longer than I thought we would. Go ahead and order yourself a drink, my friend," she said. She was going to slap on an additional 'you look like you need it' remark, but decided against it at the last second.

He ordered a Thuris Stout without hesitation. Glad to see Gleames Fortunes Casino still made those.

"Now..." he said when he had taken a good long swig, "why did you let Embo take a swing like that on Nar Kaaga?"

She opened her mouth to protest, but he raised his index finger before a sound could escape from behind her lips.

"Don't play that kind of game, I know it was you."

"Well, well. I did give him a little push. You got a problem with that? Oh, Bane..." She chuckled and her face twisted into a look he knew belonged on no other face but that of Aurra Sing's. "Bane, don't tell me you're afraid of him. Or any of _my _friends—"

"I'd like to know why," he said dryly.

"He doesn't have any problem with Garr Broxin, that's why. And anytime I can make myself some allies, I'll take them."

"That sounds funny coming from you."

Sing sipped on her drink and let her gaze drift around lazily, like he was boring her on a blind date.

"Maybe it should be..." she said out of the corner of her mouth.

"And what's that supposed to mean?" As he waited for Sing to reply, he gave Blythe's hand a squeeze. Almost instantly, Blythe stood up and slid out of the booth. She held her chin up in an odd sort of way, like she were wearing an invisible metal collar that covered her whole neck, as she walked along the back wall. Cad did not so much as glance over his shoulder to watch her go.

* * *

><p>Meanwhile, Blythe recited word-for-word in her head what she was supposed to do in the event that the woman named Aurra Sing opened fire or called out an ambush, or anything similar to either one. Cad had told it to her exactly four times before they so much as walked inside. She flinched when she heard a loud, cacophonic round of clapping erupt from behind her.<p>

If something did happen, she was going to run, and not stop running until she was back inside the ship, and if anyone asked her any questions she was _not _to say who she was with.

By this time, even a careless half-blind drunk would be able to tell she was pregnant. It would not have been so bad if she weren't alone. Alone was a hazardous place to be. If Cad was still next to her, every glance or gesture or remark would be made of little to no substance. It was quite another story when she had to take it all by herself. In fact, her subconcious was becoming so used to having him always there, always present, like her shadow.

The catch was, of course, that _she _was _his _shadow.

Blythe thought about that as she turned around and pinned her back against the wall. She was only ten feet from their booth. She knew what she had to do if...

Her legs wobbled for a moment or two.

* * *

><p>Aurra Sing tipped her chin in the direction Blythe had just taken off in.<p>

"Looks like your little whore is still in business," she remarked.

Cad ignored the comment. He couldn't spare the time.

"What did you mean by, _maybe it should_?" he asked.

"I have, well..." Aurra's old smile quickly vaporized. "I have an unresolved issue with Garr Broxin."

"Oh? Caught me off-guard with that one." His face didn't show it.

"I did, huh? I suppose I have a little story to tell you."

"You and your stories," said Cad, taking a patient sip from his Thuris Stout. "And how does this one go?"

"This story is about a girl. This girl was short on cash and looking for some work. It's also about a boy who happens to have a job on the line, and he offers it up to her. Girl does the job, boy decides he didn't need it done after all." She paused, licking her lips. "Girl doesn't get her reward."

"And in the sequel, the girl kills the boy, doesn't she," Cad finished. His upper lip curled up to reveal a yellow fang, but it was gone almost as quickly as it had come. "What a story there, Slim, even though I know you well enough to know it's full of bullshit."

"Like I said, it was a story. And there's plenty of other fish out there who will swallow that hook."

"Now, who hires a gal like you," he said slowly, "on a job that's so important or so secret that she needs to tell some bullshit story to cover it up?"

"Wouldn't you like to know." She raised her glass to take a sip, but never took it. Instead, she hung it below her chin as she went on. "Maybe I just got a new hiring in the past six weeks, and, if I named names, I might as well shoot myself in the head."

"What a coincidence," Cad said with a growing smirk on his face. "And now you're confessing you can't carry this out alone and without somebody else who doesn't exactly care for Broxin? Somebody with a special move or two in this sort of tango?"

"Dammit, Bane, I'm not asking you for _help_," she snapped. "You're the last person in the whole fucking universe I'd go to for help. Call it I'm _hiring_ you."

"So keep on talking. Maybe whoever is hiring _you_ won't take failure for an answer. Maybe you want to spark up a truce just so you can break for a bit of spare cash. Maybe you just want to see me knock up your ex-boyfriend."

"Oh, keep guessing," Sing hissed. "You know you want to."

"Do you think you can play this sort of game with me? The last one who tried to do that was a Jedi on Nal Hutta," he said slowly.

The pale dark-haired woman hesitated only to wet the roof of her mouth.

"I figured this Broxin fellow is worth more to me dead than alive. And my employers will see to it that he stays that way for more folks than just me, or you. Even if it involves a bounty on _your _head, Bane."

"How considerate of you. Sounds like there's a catch somewhere."

"The catch?" Sing's smile reappeared in a snap. "The _catch_ is that Embo won't be so easy to convince over on your side. He too has a stake in what we're about to pull off. And if you don't mind me saying it, you have a pretty-looking bargaining chip you shouldn't be hogging all to yourself, you know—"

Cad Bane slammed his empty glass on the table. She stopped.

"Where's Broxin now?" he asked.

"Now? Doesn't matter now. But, the ones paying me say we can expect him at the upper level before the month is out. He'll be attending some banquet or other shit with his white-collar clown friends. I meet you up there. We see what we can get out of him. Banquet opens in three weeks flat."

"Don't use the word _we_. Not here. Not anymore."

"If that's the kind of card you're going to draw, then fine. Have it your way, cowboy."

"Thanks for your time, Slim." Just before leaving, he lit up something and stuck it in his mouth.

Aurra Sing couldn't help but stare. An exclamation of surprise fell out of her mouth before she could reel it back in.

"Shit, Bane...when in the hell did you start smoking goddamn _death-sticks_?"

Cad just gave her a calm sneer and rose from the booth, tapping his finger on the outside of his coat.

"Don't you know me, Aurra? I have a fetish with danger."

Sing watched him turn, brush the brim of his hat, and take a long pleasant drag on the death-stick before spinning on his heel towards the exit. Like the wind, gone as quick as he had arrived. So quick it made one wonder if the conversation had even occurred at all, and was not just an inward fantasy or a half-remembered dream.

She realized two things at once.

First, she had forgotten to tell him that his old friend, the prostitute named Ael, had been found murdered four weeks ago—or that the Corrino's had finally gotten the better of the new owner of his little techno-service droid, who even if they hadn't melted down had proven to be useless to them as the droid had been mind-wiped earlier.

Second, he had planted a blaster in his left holster as he stood up and walked away.

He had been pointing it at her the whole time as well.

* * *

><p>"Bane Cad?"<p>

All was silent in _Sleight of Hand _that night. All was dark.

"Hello, Blythe."

He grinned from his leaned back position in the cockpit seat. In a small motion of his free hand, he gestured toward his lap. She took more steps towards him, still wearing the dress. Neither face was too visible in the darkness, for the only light that came through was from the glow of the rental shop outside which contained _Sleight of Hand_. But tonight, the ship was a hotel room.

"You did fine tonight. Maybe next time you'll be of some real good use."

Blythe pinned her hands on his chest and knelt down on his lap as his smile spread. If she did not have her dress on, he would have been close enough to begin nibbling at her tits.

"Like this?" she asked.

His eyes formed into cool slits, which she knew was a Yes.

"Bane Cad? I can still work. If you be busy on the job again, I mean...I could be making plenty of cash."

Cad pulled his hand away from her womb only to begin stroking the back of her thigh, delicately, as if anything harder would have made her crumble to pieces like a broken doll.

"I told you you're finished. I didn't buy you off that _sleemo _so someone else could be having his way with you, did I? Besides..." He allowed himself a gentle caress of her womb, like a childlike curiosity had gotten the better of him for a moment, "Let's see how he does for now."

She nodded slowly, knowing that he was talking about the unborn child. She could not tell if he had been teasing about it or not, but his position on the matter had never been clearer. Her knees dug into his lap as she raised one arm over her head and around her lekku.

"Dance again just for me," he said. "Just one more time."

Blythe's eyes glistened in the dim light as she braced her hands on the armrests of his chair. Her rhythm were slower than before—that's what pregnancy does, of course, but Cad paid little mind as the very movements of her weight pinning him into the chair was too much of a delight. And she began to peel off the dress, starting at the shoulder and working her way down, her knees grinding into his lap all the while. Cad finished smoking his second death-stick that night as Blythe's bare back, neck, and shoulders were exposed to the damp humidity of _Hand's _interior air.

He had only just discovered how much death-sticks helped to repel the headache.

Blythe, however, stopped the dance long before the dress and its undergarments were off. Something sudden seized her like a plague even though the sickness had passed. She pressed harder, trying to catch her breath. Her eyes began to sting.

Finally, she knew she couldn't go on. She just couldn't. Blythe tried to give him the smile he wanted. But a tear had already formed a glistening line down her cheek.

"When I was little, I learned how to dance," she said slowly. "They made me dance for hours and hours. No sleep at all, just...going on all night, no breaks. I could do it too, Cad. I got so good. And I never—I never—got to wear nice clothes like the one you gave..."

It hurt. The sharp images and sounds she thought she had buried physically_hurt._

She was trying not to cry now, lying down, curled up in his lap like the time she collapsed in the Happyface train station. She felt him sit her up as her back dug into one of the armrests. Her throat began to ache.

The memories. The memories must be still coming back. Cad could feel them hanging in the air like a thick poisonous gas, a gas Blythe was afraid to breathe in. He was dead silent as Blythe forced back more tears.

His arms offered no warmth to her. Only a stability that held her in from completely falling apart. To hold together what hadn't already been broken.

It was a good thing Blythe never noticed how his fading-red eyes drifted once in a while to the two blasters half an arm's length away, and he realized he was considering which direction of a blast to her head would be the least painful for her.

Six weeks had passed since he gave her the dress. It had been six weeks of constant, dizzying motion. From one hideout to the next and wherever _safe _was still an existing shield. Relying on what he had saved in various bank accounts, as well as staying undercover from wherever there may be an extra hunt for a bounty. Then a peculiar request from Aurra Sing, who was back on Coruscant, had put it all to a sudden halt. Now Cad couldn't brush aside the truth. It wouldn't be before long.

"Cad...?" she asked, swallowing the jagged lump in her throat, "what'll you do?"

"What's that?"

"What are you and your friend gonna do?"

He smirked to himself, thinking. As if _friend _was the correct term of exchange in their 'partnership'...or 'relationship'...or lack thereof...or whatever the fuck you call that sort of thing. But he knew that Blythe would never understand that, among many other things about the qualities and characteristics that made up his line of work that she would also never understand. Besides, like anybody would want to sit down and hear the story of all the times Aurra Sing had flirted with his mortality only to bail him out for one more overnight physical fix.

"What's left to do," he answered.

"So what's left?"

He knew that the answer was, not much. When one was denied an easy and practical million credits from a top employer, with no warning, compensation, or solid reason, one couldn't slow down. It was out of the question to retreat back to one's hideout and sit around and wait for the next job to come up.

It was all just a game, sure...but a most dangerous game.

The bounty hunter, when surrounded and in need of cash, does not pretend he can lay low until the smoke clears, as he was able to do before. He does not pull back. Instead, he pushes forward. He does not run for cover. Instead, he steps out into the open. He lists his stops and steals them one by one like he is the second-hand on a time bomb. The bounty hunter travels to the core of the planet that has cursed him and sounded the death penalty on his head. He travels to the source of his inequities.

But it would be fatal for him go in with a string tied around his wait. He should not hold onto any memories that make him tremble with rage, make him want to kill or terrorize for personal reasons. Emotion, no matter the degree of how personal it was, was in no way a catalyst for further success in a hiring. Rather, when things got personal, they got out of control, a place, of course, that he would most certainly not prefer to be. He can't let the image of the two dead infant prostitutes crammed in a metal crate, or a little red girl being taken away by tall dark strangers, echo like a drumbeat with the crashing of the approaching tide.

And he can't go to this core or this source with the thought of vengeance on his mind. Especially thoughts of an ultimate, final vengeance. Not a vengeance for the voice no one listens to, the tears no one sees, the blood and the decay no one has _smelled_.

He just, shouldn't. It was too dangerous and too unpredictable.

Nevertheless, Cad Bane knew he was going to do exactly that for this job.

After all, thanks to the little red girl, he probably wasn't even a real bounty hunter anymore. So it didn't matter that he violate those rules one last time.

If he could kill for vengeance on Ryloth, he could kill for final vengeance on Coruscant.

"And all that's left is one last job," he finished. "I am going to play with Broxin."

"How you gonna do that, Bane Cad?"

Blythe felt his chest tremble as he chuckled.

"Well, _mesh'la_, the only way I know how to play."

He took off his hat and slapped it against the floor, then let Blythe use his shoulder for a pillow, if only until she had fallen asleep.

_I will kill Garr Broxin and end the hunt._

He glanced yet again at his blasters nearby. It wouldn't be before long.

If this was the road he wanted to descend, it would be best not to let Blythe be there. She could never handle it. It would be too risky for both of them. She would break like she did on Nal Hutta and it would cost them far more the next time.

Where he was going, she could _not_ go with.

_Don't think about it. Just don't think._

Don't think about what you know you have to do to your little red girl.

There was no turning back now.

* * *

><p>This is what the HoloNet <em>should <em>have said...

_A storm is coming._

_It is a storm such as never has been seen or will ever be seen again._

_It is a hurricane that will sweep away all those things we thought were stable and that which we took for granted. It is a tornado that will tear the integrity and prosperity of the Republic off its weak foundation like a house of cards, and hurtle into the air pieces of a truth that fell apart. It is a dust storm that will tear the children out of their parents' arms deep into the unknown and the unreachable, until no mirage on the horizon can be trusted as being real. It is a snowstorm that will forever end the days of a happy, golden summer, and harden all hearts to stone and ice. It is a fire that will ravage the forest and take in delight as it watches everything burn._

_It is a storm that will mark the end of one era, and the beginning of another._

_The days of justice and honor are numbered. The nights of shadow and helplessness darken the horizon. Alliances broken and promises shattered. Brothers treated as strangers. Slaughter treated as housecleaning._

_And as a galaxy shall watch, a plague will strike a desperate fever on the coldest, and weaken to helpless bones the strongest._

_The world is about to be set on fire. Night is about to fall._

_The allies will watch as an old order is executed. And a new order is begun._

_—__Sincerely, your beloved Chancellor._

But the HoloNet never says these things.

* * *

><p><em>"I will dance with Cinderella<em>  
><em>I don't want to miss even one song<em>  
><em>'Cause all too soon the clock will strike midnight<em>  
><em>And she'll be gone"<em>

_-Steven Curtis Chapman, "Cinderella"_


	19. Final Calm Before the Storm

_"Space Bound"_

_Chapter Nineteen: Final Calm Before the Storm_

* * *

><p><em>"Rise up and take the power back<br>It's time the fat cats had a heart attack  
>You know that their time's coming to an end<br>We have to unify and watch our flag ascend,  
>They will not force us<br>They will stop degrading us  
>They will not control us<br>We will be victorious"  
><em>

_-Muse, "Uprising"_

* * *

><p>Aurra Sing realized that she was holding her breath.<p>

She puckered her lips and let out a small whistle.

So much to do. So much to process. And so little time.

_"It is official, then," _the hologram message had said. _"No more bounties for a Jedi's head shall be issued nor permitted. Instead, such business will be exclusive to private hirings only, and no more. The reasons for this variation are of none of your concern. We deeply apologize if this inconveniences you in any sort of way."_

Her tongue glazed over her lower lip, wondering how many lies she would have to sniff out of the latest message from her employer. There had been more than enough she had caught a whiff of from Cad Bane's remarks back in Gleaming Fortunes Casino, after all. She had to give him credit, he was usually a good liar, to the point that he could intentionally act as a bad liar enough to make the truth seem fake. But _them_.

They were experts.

Aurra's skeletal fingers coiled over the barrel of her 16x sniper rifle. Her eyes glazed over her surroundings. Even after years of getting used to it, her digestive system still had a hard time handling the sensation of slowly rising from the lower levels. It always popped her ears and made her stomach a bit queasy. Possibly one of the setbacks of being a hybrid, she mentally added.

The male Skrilling piloting the craft stole yet another glance at her rifle. Almost rolling her eyes in annoyance, she slipped it back in its case and crossed one knee over the other.

"Tell me the time, sailor," she said loudly.

"Twenty-one hundred hours. Upper level, thirty minutes."

"I know you can do better than that."

"Are you in a rush or something, lady?"

"We're _all _in a rush," she snarled, but with a smile.

She knew that he second-glanced at her that time, but she avoided any further eye contact. Instead, she flicked out her comlink after considering the remaining minutes she had left to spare.

"Embo," she murmured into the comlink, "There's been a slight change in the plan. My new employers have some new and well-paying demands for us. So for now, the job is still on go. We can hold on to Bane until the plan pays off. Meet me at the upper level and pull together a small team of your own."

_"Who will I need?" _Embo asked on the other line.

"Let's see." She welded together her mental puzzle pieces of the needed hands in the operation, then listed them off as their resolution sharpened. "Bomb specialist. An assassin droid. Two more gunman for a diversion. And throw in an extra sniper for good measure. My team should cover the rest."

_"Where do the three of us come in?"_

"I'll be behind the curtain, doing my own thing, of course. You direct your team live. And Bane goes in for the main course."

As the Uscru Entertainment District of Coruscant peeled into view from over her head, a euphenic dance began to streak across the sky. Gilded glitz littered the atmosphere as lanes of traffic whizzed by. Synthesizer orchestra music poured out from the first-class clubs and balls like an overflow of gushing sound effects. A first-class airspeeder, twice as large and free of scratches or dents or burn marks, loomed over Aurra's head with a low lethargic groan. The air felt fresher from above, and cleaner, having filtered out the common lower-level stenches of garbage and vomit and shit. No, every breath was more so a luxury in Uscru. Such smells were unheard of here.

Then, around the bend, a large dome-shaped building appeared. Seeing it in person after weeks of studying its floor plans, air vent systems, and security breaches made Aurra breathless for a pause. It was like seeing a partner decades later, believing they were the same as last one saw them, but having no idea how much of their old self had remained intact. And to her, that was nothing short of exhilerating.

There it was. The Galaxies Opera House.

From the recieving end of her comlink, Embo let out a damning curse in his own language.

"What is it?" Sing snapped.

_"I did not take you for a sadist. I was wrong."_

She stretched out one leg as the Skrilling pilot steered them down to the floor of the district. Far below, a gloomy hangar void of color and music waited for them, undisturbed by the glitzy, shimmering traffic speeding by.

"I'm assuming you'd like to get to know me better," she said with a sigh, fiddling with the outer case of her rifle.

_"On the contrary, dearest Senator," _he replied, mimicking a proper Coruscant accent, which made her crack a smile. But the moment vaporized seconds before its time was due—and Embo's tone suddenly darkened as if he were hiding from someone. _"I smell your plan, Sing. As long as Broxin's alive, Bane is on your side, isn't he? Then when your employers get what they—"_

"Cash," said Sing, "is _cash_, Embo darling."

_"What I don't understand is why you hired Bane in the first place. He's dangerous to be around these days."_

"As if he was ever as harmless as a bag of candy."

_"You get my point," _he sniffed.

"I suppose..." Sing lazily collected her thoughts into words, "I count on him getting the job done. If that's the _one _thing I trust in Bane, it's that. He wants Broxin to go down, well so do we. Besides...we have a history. An eye for an eye. Ain't as simple as fifty-fifty. You understand this."

_"I don't need to know your so-called history. Just give me my own good share." _Then, blended with the perfect Embo-esque sarcasm flavor, he added,_ "I'm supposed to be desperate, remember?"_

"We won't be pretending before long. You smell that storm coming?"

Exactly three weeks from now, she would be watching Garr Broxin enter the banquet held at the outdoor pavilion of the Galaxies Opera House, the lights flashing around him. She would watch the orchestra begin and the waltzes start and the applause ensue, and look down with an indifferent, silent rage at their obliviousness to the danger just behind the curtain. And the scope would be zeroed in, and the bombs would detonate to let the other side know what they sounded like, and the journey down this road would commence.

Too bad the road would have to end with more than one corpse lying in a ditch.

But it comforted Aurra Sing to know that at least it would be fun.

* * *

><p>Cad Bane's hands had given up on the shaking in the two days since he met with Aurra Sing, or at least they had thus far. The headache, however, could only be held off or distracted by a deathstick or two—maybe enough cigarettes. He quickly stuck another one in his mouth, lit it, and was delighted as always be to met by the sudden rush of pain- relief.<p>

Funny, now that he thought about it. The old girl Ael had once tried backing him into this very habit, to which she had been met with a verbal reminder of why her discounts for a night's delight had been steadily increasing as she sucked away more and more of her life's years with each stick. Cad hadn't forgotten that—the way Ael smelled just before she started and the second she was done, the way the drugs had slowly drained the color from the corners of her eyes, and the way she fingered the brim of his hat as she confessed the things she had done to his little red girl.

Ael. The Happyface resident. The deathstick addict. The dead girl who was dying. The one who turned on Blythe and wrung out the last of the maimed-up walls inside her. The one who would do anything and everything for a few credits more. The one who dried up a little more each time you saw her because of the drugs that killed the pain and picked off the years.

That was the level he had descended to. That was what he was now eye-to-eye with. That was _him _now. _He _was a dead man who was dying.

_But fuck that._

Fuck the future. Cross that parsec when you get there.

Besides—there was no way around what he was about to do.

Cad also had not forgotten something else—Blythe's blackout panic in the Happyface train station when the Dio's took a shot at them. Nor how little of a help she was during their escape from Nal Hutta, or hideout Number 3. He couldn't dodge the truth that anything worse than those would shatter her like paper-thin glass dropped on a concrete floor. He could try to condition her over time, but it would be futile as convincing her she was as pure as she was on that last day of innocence. She just couldn't take it. Whatever that damned prick-of-a-genius Orett Solarin had shut down in her brain and made her do with her body when she was no older than ten or eleven years, was nothing short of unreversable.

Next time it might be Embo, or Aurra Sing, or Garr Broxin himself who turns the tables on Blythe and decides to use her as a piece in their game. And she would go out on Cad like a light. _Click_. Gone.

_Yes, _he thought.

And that was why this needed to be done.

Cad's fingers gently stroked his left breathing tube with a lethargic interest, as Blythe looked out the window of _Sleight of Hand_.

At her own small request, he had let her keep on wearing the dress. She might as well.

"Night makes this planet so pretty," Blythe said as the tip of her nose brushed the window. Yet, her tone of voice implied the exact opposite. As if not knowing so, she went on. "Night makes things alive. People get happy. Stuff gets tossed around. They all say it's pretty."

"Sure," Cad said out of the side of his mouth, but never heard a reply.

He wondered if Blythe was remembering past nights she had been forced to spend on Coruscant. Maybe she saw the faces of those _she _had made happy in benefit to Solarin and Broxin, or saw herself as the _stuff _being tossed around, as the object treated as no more than a lever people pulled for a fix or a drug people injected themselves with for pleasure. Everyone needs to feel life so they drain it out of others. And on many a night in the Coruscant system, somebody walked home elated and giddy and somebody else went hungry and cold after being promised she'd get a hot meal and a warm bed.

Just couldn't help but wonder.

Cad glanced up at her as she practically pressed her face to the window. He leaned back in his seat. As a result, some deathstick smoke rose a bit close to his face.

"Are you gonna stand there all day?" he asked.

She pulled her face back, her Adam's apple giving a jump.

"N-No. Don't want me to?"

"Jus' curious, _mesh-la_." He planted the deathstick between his fingers.

Blythe tried to look directly at him to get his attention. Instead he stared straight ahead, as if pretending to be lost in thought when he was really just irritated. It went that way for what felt like hour-like minutes, silence filling _Hand_. Eventually he just couldn't take it.

"What?" he snapped, still staring ahead.

Blythe appeared a bit startled, but did not hesitate to speak up.

"The other night...?" she asked, syllable by syllable, "I mean, last night. Were you all okay?"

"I don't get it," he muttered.

"It sound like it was bad. You sounded like it was bad."

He hesitated.

The night after his conversation with Aurra Sing, he had the nightmare.

He had the nightmare he'd been trying to forget for years. The one feeling he would take a shot in the mouth to get rid of.

In this nightmare, his drunken father became even more drunk the louder his mother screamed. A small, helpless seven-year old boy watched the scene unfold right in front of him. By the end of it, he was drenched with blood and praying his father would not turn on him with the cold metal belt. In this nightmare, he kept hoping his mother had only fallen unconcious under the beating—maybe she only _looked_ dead. But the puddle of dark green blood spread underneath her until it went cold. And she never woke up.

Had Cad woken up from that nightmare in a cold sweat? Had he woken up thrashing and groaning? Had he woken up screaming at his father to stop? He couldn't know. But whatever had happened, Blythe knew of it. She had seen, or heard, or felt, the dent in the armor, the Achilles' foot, the things time cannot erase.

And before that even happened, back when Cad's mother was still there to bandage up his skinned knees and to make sure he swallowed every last morsel of what food they had, back when he didn't know death—not of a small rodent under the bed, but another being who could look him in the eye—and didn't know what death looked like and sounded like and _smelled_ like. Even before that nightmare had been forever burned into his memories—there was her, the little red girl. The innocent smile. The soft lekku. A picture of a bright-blue sky that was beautiful and clear.

_This ain't the first time you've had to drop somebody, _Cad Bane told himself, remembering dozens of faces at once.

Was he ready to do this?

Of course, there was no other choice. Cad had already decided that. Now that he was in on Sing's little operation, there was no backing out.

Better that this little red girl no longer cost him anything.

"It's pretty tonight," Blythe said again, looking back to the window. "So pretty. All them colors. It looks like—" Then she hesitated and lost her thought altogether.

Cad lifted his head.

"So, like what?" he asked, forcing the question to sound like it was out of boredom.

She tore her gaze away from the Coruscant skyline in all its haunting beauty and dazzle.

"It looks like everything's on fire," she finished.

Can you smell it? Can you smell the smoke? Can you feel the promises of the end of a galactic war echo across hundreds of lightyears? Can you hear Garr Broxin screaming as he eats a shot to his heart and falls in a lifeless heap?

Can you sense that this is your last night alive, Blythe?

* * *

><p>A silent sound caught in Tee's throat. She knew she was not supposed to say anything, much less to her dearest Garr Broxin.<p>

"You'll be very good to me, won't you, Tee? I mean, w-on't you have nice drinks with me at the, the holotheatre this weekend? I mean, you don't even have to do all that if you don't want to, no I guess you, like, don't want to one bit, and I don't mind. I really don't mind a lot of things about you. I'd just like you to say you love me. Maybe you'll say it later this week when we're at the Galaxies Opera House, together, just you and me."

Tee turned her head and looked up at Broxin. There was no light in his sky-blue eyes, only the reflection of what he wanted her to be. Finally, the silent sound slipped out of her mouth.

"W—_why, _dearest Garr? _Why_ do I have to say that?"

He stared at her from where she sat on the small bed, her legs under the covers.

Garr Broxin could not answer her, for he had no reply. He did not know Why.

A hissing sound from behind him made him jump.

"Mr. Broxin, if I may, I'm the bearer of news."

"That would be _bad _news, right?" asked Broxin, grinning wildly as he spun around to face the intruder of a private moment in his quarters.

"How did you guess, sir?" a Sennes security officer snapped back. He wiped a streak of grease from his forehead and locked his knees.

"Because that's all I get every fucking day," he chuckled. "Ever since my good friend Solarin walked into my office and said an extra thirty-five thousand credits were coming in from a lower Coruscant level, a-and then the next thing I know he's bleeding all over my doorstep with a hole in his head...now talk about a way to piss on your whole day or maybe even your whole damned life. Is a sight like a—dead old friend. But eventually you learn to not think about it, you just don't...think—" He looked up and his bloodshot eyes scanned the Sennes officer. "_Well_, what news is it?"

"The. The first warning, Mr. Broxin?"

"The first _warning_," Broxin echoed.

It was the first meaningful sentence he had heard in too long a time.

"If I may add," said the Sennes, holding up an object in his left hand, "Orett Solarin left behind this datapad. No copies of its files has been identified, and it has been in circulation for almost three years to the date."

Before waiting to hear anymore, Broxin snatched the datapad from the Sennes and held it up at eye level. For a long pause, none of the information displayed before him made any sense.

"A decade ago," said the Sennes, "Orett Solarin's business officially struck its first treaty undercover with a few members of the Jedi Order. Five years ago, the alliance was formed between the Corrino family and their smaller allies in order to gain better profit in shipping of Solarin's products throughout the Outer Rim. But recently because of the bank scandal, the Corrino's have been costing us more than benefitting. Thus, Solarin was only able to hold the strings together for one partnership, and that was with the Order."

The Sennes stopped speaking as Broxin set aside the datapad.

"This is our first warning."

"From the one who can pull the plug whenever he so wishes," added Broxin.

"The second warning won't be as pleasant," the Sennes said. "Sir, we must cut off all ties to the Order, or else."

Broxin slapped one knee, gagging on a fresh fit of laughter.

"Why? Why this? Why now? Why my lifeline?"

"Those are the questions we were not allowed to ask."

"Oh, god, no. Force, no, it's too early." Broxin yanked his hand away from Tee to pour himself another helping of Corellian whiskey.

So it had finally come down to this, exactly what had been promised not to happen. The one source of profit holding their heads up from the Boltrunian mess was going to be snapped from around their waist. His last fistful of credits was about to be severed.

Money...yes, _that _was it. He needed money. Fast.

No wonder Orett Solarin had been so quick to jump on even a sum of thirty-five thousand credits. Had he had a feeling this very day was coming? Had he known all along? Had he been desperately saving up to prepare himself for just such a time as this? Had he already begun to feel the tightening squeeze around his neck even before he made his final loop around to the lower levels of the Coruscant system over four standard months ago?

And so, maybe—Solarin had preferred to bail himself out and leave Broxin to clean up the mess that he created. Maybe he had not only wanted to get rid of the Lethan, but to get rid of himself, and his unrequited love for money.

Who knew. Perhaps the moment Solarin stepped outside this very base to be sniped down was not so much an assassination, but an assisted suicide. Broxin would never know for sure.

But desperation does that sort of thing to people.

Broxin felt his fingers rip at his collar before he realized he had to start thinking real thoughts again.

"First warning? All right, we can take that, like, like we don't give a honest-to-goodness damn about the Jedi and, and how much they love or how much I think they love all our little girls, and the sounds they make. We can still have a bit of fun before the second warning or whatever. Now we can sit back and k-kind of relax and enjoy a nice long fucking night of...of, of, burning things down."

"What do you mean by burning things, Mr. Broxin?"

In response, Broxin finished off his second shot of whiskey and jabbed a thumb in the Sennes' direction. He looked down at Tee and giggled as if she were tickling him.

"He doesn't get it, does he, Tee? I think he's stupid." Broxin hesitated, still giggling—Tee stared into the hollow spaces that were his eyes.

"Why _burning_ things, sir?" the Sennes repeated, annoyed.

"To clear the evidence, of course. That's what you said and that's what you meant so that's what we're going to do, starting to burn things." He jabbed his finger down on the base's datascreen. "Start clearing it up at the dumps."

"You mean burn the dumps!"

"That's exactly what I fucking mean, you slow and good-for-nothing Bantha fodder who hates me," Broxin snapped.

So the Sennes nodded his head, turned around, and backed away out of the room to carry out the order of a madman.

Garr Broxin looked out the window of the base to the wooded plateau ahead, and the desert-like clearing dotted with the small black buildings—but, dumps was a more vulgar word to describe them. He listened to the workers downstairs gathering their supplies and rushing out the door to follow this order—_"Burn them down! Burn down the evidence! Any signs a Jedi was here, burn it down! The boss' orders!" _After watching them for a while, until all but one of the air transports had taken off toward the clearing and was waiting for them, he turned around and gulped down the rest of his whiskey in a flourish. He wiped his thumb across his mouth. Then, he took Tee's hand in his.

"Let's go, Tee, I want to have a date night with you, we can pretend we're happy and having fun."

So Tee rose, her knees knocking against each other ever so quietly.

"What are dumps?" she whispered.

"When one of the girls gets sick or hurt and we can't keep her, or if we find her dead in the bed the next morning, or if she's just not gonna last long anyway, we let them go to one of our dumps. You can only imagine all the damned Jedi DNA and semen and prints they could find there. Why, our only chance is to start a long, terrible process of burning my worst collection to the ground, right outside my fucking door."

"What's wrong with Jedi?"

"That's the first warning, dearest Tee."

So Broxin took her by the hand and led her down the elevator, out to the exterior of the base, talking to her all the while. Their little corner of Ryloth had come to life like that of when an intruder invades the anthill. Air transports took off for the darkening skies, and the workers began to carry out the order of a madman.

Tee watched them with fear. Her throat choked when, as they climbed into the last air transport, Broxin's far-bigger hand began to squeeze hers, sucking the blood from her delicate fingers and cracking the bones of her knuckles—as if _he_ were the child in need of holding a stronger hand. He refused to go of her even as they stood next to the other workers in the transport.

Slowly, they were taken across the desert clearing. Broxin, his lips wet with whiskey and his chin unshaven, stared ahead without a visible care in the world. Just squeezing down on the hand of the little green girl next to him.

Tee looked down and saw a sight neither she, nor a previous Duros bounty hunter, would ever forget.

Scattered among the desert clearing were black buildings. One by one, as the transports descended, they were being encircled by Broxin's men in the form of humans, Rodians, and the occasional Weequay or Sennes. All of them carried some amount of supplies. Night fell around them.

The last of the fiery rays of twilight were dead.

Their transport touched the ground, landing in front of one of those black buildings. Almost immediately in subsequence, the men began to cough on all of the kicked-up dust. Tee jumped out and looked around them. Flaming torches carried by all the workers brought an eerie glow to the clearing. Her breaths quickened. Broxin only squeezed her hand tighter, and pulled her close.

"It makes you wonder, doesn't it, _like_, why it wasn't done sooner, and yet here we are afraid of a shadow. Literally, a shadow. Right in front of me or behind me. And I thought I was my own man," he was saying. Broxin made a small nod at the Sennes standing nearest to him. The order of a madman was executed.

So one by one, the bearers began to toss their torches at the buildings. All across the clearing, fireballs became burning suns under the dying day. Each worker put a handkerchief, gas mask or helmet over his face to protect himself from the smoke and filth. In a matter of seconds, Tee could see nothing of what had been. All Tee could see was the dust, the metal crates, and the smoke—that disgusting, putrid smoke. By then, every man was tossing flammable liquids at the buildings, and fanning the flames. Some were sent to toss the surrounding metal crates through open doorways or windows.

Then Tee smelled it. It was the smell of death.

Helmeted and non-helmeted faces turned away so not to see. Many a grumble complained about the rising smell, including Broxin himself.

Tee did not look away. Instead, she gazed on inside the black building they had landed nearest to. She would later wish she had turned away after all.

Peering inside, she saw what was left of Broxin's 'property', those that were taken out of the base and were never seen again. There were girls smaller than her, skinnier and paler, and no longer able to be identified as once having been living beings. There were old corpses that had been left behind so long ago not even their names could be recalled by anyone. Time and indifference had eaten away their bodies and their innocence. Carelessness had left them to be pieces of a dump, and leftovers for the rodents and the flies.

There was no sense of dignity left for them, not even the infants who were left to die in a metal crate in the heat of midday, naked and starving and ridden with foreign diseases. Now they were not even worthy to be fed to an infant rancor. Only to be burned.

So the flames began to burn away the evidence of every legal crime Orett Solarin and Garr Broxin had committed. So Tee said not a word as her mouth and lungs were filled to the rim with smoke. When she finally did turn away, she could only watch as Broxin's face turned a glowing orange in the relfection of the light. He said nothing but a small comment on how he wished this damned night would be over with.

It seemed that the fire, right then, let out a loud roar that silenced every grumble or mumble from the griping workers. It was not simply a roar from the heat, but a roar of rage—a rage that sounded out-of-place in this sort of setting, but was undeniable. Tee's spine gave a shudder as the roar sounded again, arms of flames ripping at the walls of the black building and devouring every remnant inside.

All across the clearing, this happened.

And as each of the black buildings was set aflame, the surrounding rainbow-splattered forests and jungles of Ryloth experienced a new sort of unseasonal weather. Something began to fall from the sky. The thick trees in all the shades of green, and the lush thriving carpet of vegetation on the floor, were sprinkled by a strange substance that fluttered calm and steady to the ground. Despite the time of year, this substance strongly resembled snow at first glance. Maybe for one moment it was thought to be a miracle.

Only it was not snow. It was ashes. And it was turning a spring-green forest into a dead gray one.

* * *

><p><em>"So I cross my heart and I hope to die<em>  
><em>That I'll only stay with you one more night<em>  
><em>And I know I said it a million times<em>  
><em>But I'll only stay with you one more night"<em>

_-Maroon 5, "One More Night"_

* * *

><p><em>Author's Note:<em>

_Be sure to check out my story "How Did I Get These Scars", which I've been adding several chapters to and is now complete. It sets up a lot of the events used as background in "SB"._


	20. Be My Last

_"Space Bound"_

_Chapter Twenty: Be My Last_

* * *

><p><em>"You must be a sorceress 'cause you just<br>Did the impossible:  
>Gained my trust<em>_"  
><em>

_-Eminem, "Space Bound"_

* * *

><p>Elsewhere, the sun was also falling on the Coruscant system.<p>

Blythe watched the dusk carefully, as if knowing it would be her last time. Although Cad Bane would have rather had her stay on his side, stroking him top to bottom, he let her go on ahead to the window. Might as well.

The sunset was supposed to be bright and full of color, a breath of fresh air for the eyes and the mind. It was supposed to make everything seem beautiful and good. It was supposed to make places like the Jedi Temple gleam and shine.

But of course it never really does, does it? Maybe for that one small pinnacle, as the dying sphere peeled its eye closed on the horizon, bleeding tangerine rays across the skyline—but that pinnacle is just a moment, a leaf on a tree. Just as you realize it's there, it slips, and you lose it, and it's gone forever. It passes on by. And it all happened so fast you're not even sure if that moment—the moment the sunset truly did make everything beautiful—ever existed at all.

Why did it sometimes feel like everything, and everyone, was slowly dying?

A ray of light streamed from behind the Coruscant skyscrapers. The ground shook with a thousand voices, ringing in a choir biting their tongues with their fingers crossed, in celebration of the approaching Coruscant nightlife. Only minutes ago, Cad had been dragging his half-dressed body off the makeshift cot, scrambling around his coat pockets to find a deathstick to repel the headache, which had been gracious enough to give him no more than three hours of sleep throughout the day.

He did not bother to notice how his shirt hung from his arms and shoulders more than it had several weeks before—it meant the intuition that he really was losing weight was true. But he didn't want to care.

Now _Sleight of Hand _glided along one of the more ground-level sky-lanes, away from the busy traffic. They were as close to the gray, lifeless carpet of the upper Coruscant districts as was possible before sparks would start flying.

"Where we going?" Blythe asked from behind him. She knelt down on the cot and pulled the dress up to her waist. The exposed place between her legs was a much darker shade of red, dark _and_ smooth, like the tips of her lekku. Her back curved into a strong S-shape as she stretched the dress over her bare legs. An old scar on the inside of her thigh, possibly a burn, seemed to dance up her skin and tug at something in him.

Cad looked away.

"Just a quick rest-stop," he lied.

_Hand _pulled off the main sky-lane and onto a path descending farther down. Already the light was beginning to fade.

_I got to stop this looking_, _beautiful. I don't know why the hell I want that little red girl. But I'm stopping it._

_ Don't worry. I'll make sure it will all be over soon._

Shit. Come_ on._ He had known this day was coming ever since he bought her from Orett Solarin. It was as inevitable as death, if not more, and death is pretty damn easy to see coming.

It should be a cinch, then. Get on with it and move on to the next point of action. Don't think about it for a second.

Out of curiousity, but also on the spur of the moment, Cad reached down into his coat pocket with his free hand, and fingered around the inside. When he did, he was even taken aback to find it was still there. After all this time, it was still there.

Force willing, the little red girl, or their kid, would not complicate things.

His eyes glazed over the holster sitting nearby.

_Forgive me for this, Blythe, _he thought, as he watched her pull the dress over her naked breasts and hips, her lekku dangling down her back. She was still so skinny, so easy to break like a glass doll. It made the growing womb stand out all the more. Perhaps he wished her body was stronger, so all his darkest desires could be unbridled under the sheets and on whatever tabletop she had landed onto—what a wonderfully shaming thought.

Soon, their destination came into view admist all the other gray, dingy buildings identical to it. He returned to face ahead and allowed _Sleight of Hand _to slowly touch down on the nearest landing platform. Up above, the lights of Coruscant's upper districts were a third-demensional constellation to behold. They too were supposed to be bright and colorful.

Only as Blythe looked out and saw the building they were landing next to, did it appear like it had begun to occur to her. The way her gaze flickered and she tightened her shoulder muscles.

Cad remembered her little story about a Twi'lek girl named Numa, who was turned away from getting help because she was no more than a piece of 'property'.

It was a medical facility Blythe was looking out at.

The way she noticed how his hands squeezed the controls, and he hesitated, and he stared ahead with deep, brutal intent brewing behind his eyes.

"Rest-stop?" she echoed.

"That's what I thought."

His back was to her. He knew she could not see his left hand still fingering the item in his coat pocket. Then, when he stood up, he looked down at her as if she were not supposed to be there, and Blythe climbed off the cot.

"Whatin we doin' here, Cad?"

Bane paused. And he looked at her. Her round, dark nipples were visible through the dress. Her eyes were wide and brimming with questions, pleading for just one straight answer. In the light of the sunset, her red complexion appeared darker. But she was silent—not one giggle from the stupid, illiterate whore he had sworn he would never trust since the first night he spent with her. Her face was simple, blunt and simple, emotions open wide like the pages of a book to come what may, exactly the way he remembered her as.

_Get it over with._

"Take a step outside," he said in a low murmur.

Blythe hesitated.

"Bane, Cad..."

"Don'tchyu start asking why. Now do what I told you to do and step outside."

"Bu' is just a, medical facility. Cad, are you gonna step out, too?"

Bane flicked a switch. The hatch behind her opened and she jumped with surprise. In one movement, he fingered the brim of his hat and stuck another deathstick in his mouth. With half of an almost sarcastic smirk, he held the pack out to her and said,

"Might wanna take these along for good times' sake, if you 'tink you might as well. Even jus' one. Go _on_. _Take_ one."

Blythe chomped down on the inside of her cheek as Bane took a long, lethal drag from his deathstick. The reek of the resulting sickly smoke filled the cockpit. He seemed to get a strange sort of pleasure from it, as if he despised the action but enjoyed the outcome. His giant red eyes stared right down into her, at the dress he bought from a pawn shop, at her frail lekku, and at her growing dread. For inside, a part of her had always been well-aware of what he was about to do, and he knew that.

He had only wanted just _more _all along, right? That was all. And the day she stopped giving it to him was the day he...

"No?" Bane snapped. When she didn't move, Bane snapped the pack back into his palm and tossed it over his shoulder. It landed with a clang on the dashboard. "Good girl. They're no good for any right person's health, anyway. You're getting smarter." His upper lip curled over his deathstick, as if he was trying to be ironic.

"Don't think I ever not be a stupid whore."

"Fine, 'den. I just wondered..." he glanced away, leaning one hand against the wall.

"Wondering what, Cad?"

"Just for good times' sake, if we could share one." Suddenly, his face turned to stone. "But I'm no sentimentalist and I goddamn hope you won't turn out to be one either."

"Cad...?"

As he approached the hatch, he put one hand behind her shoulder and gave her just enough of a push so that she would move.

"What are we doin' here, Cad...?"

_Damn, _mesh-la_, you'd better not make this any harder._

"Cad—!"

He forced her to walk down the ramp, his fingertips pinching her skin.

* * *

><p>When they had arrived at the bottom of <em>Hand's <em>ramp, he let her go. She felt him press against the back of her upper shoulder and give her a harmless but convincing push. Gravity took care of the rest. She took a few steps more, skidding down onto the filthy ground. The medical facility sat and waited less than twenty yards away after a slightly-descending slope.

Once she had forced herself to a stop, Blythe spun around. In the fading light, she saw it at last. What had changed about his eyes.

There was less color in them. The red was fading from the corners.

What was happening to him, her Bane Cad?

He pointed behind her.

"Blythe," he said, "I think you know this ain't no pit-stop. You're going to that medical facility. Right now. They'll fix you up."

"_What_, Cad...?"

"They can do a helluva lot more than you know I can. They'll give you the right medicine, get you back in shape. Maybe they'll even do some good for the kid and we'll know if it's a—"

"But, they arrest you when they see you inside, Cad." Even now, exposing himself in one of the upper levels was always pushing its own risks. At least she knew that. "We ain't in Happyface or—"

"No, beautiful. They're not gonna see me inside. Jus' you."

The breath was sucked out of Blythe's lungs. It was a familiar feeling to the Weequay bounty hunter smacking her with the butt of his rifle, knocking everything out of porportion and all sense of balance. When all she wanted to do was scream out his name.

"Cad?" Blythe wheezed. "You. You _leavin' _me?"

He returned her eye contact with a complete loss of emotion, a blank slate void of light and dark as a hollow cavern.

"If 'dey do a better job, let 'em do it."

Blythe began to feel something she had never felt before. A terrifying thing. For she knew girls like her were not supposed to feel it, not even know it existed—the kind of feeling Solarin, Broxin, and anyone who profited off her did not even want her to experience. But here it was.

She felt her heart breaking. It was being choked to death in his cold grip.

"N—no, Cad. You can't. Y-you can't leave me."

"_Blythe_," he snapped, taking one step back towards _Hand_. "Don'tchyu you want any of it? Well? You understand what the fuck I'm giving ya?"

She nodded her head violently.

"I understand."

"'Den run along. Go for it. Hell, everything that human Solarin took away from you is waiting right down 'dere. You want any of it back—you wanna have an old chance again? There you go."

He began to walk back up the ramp.

"No. _Don't_." Just like before, she said it. "Don't leave without me. _Please_. Don't leave without me, Cad."

"You don't want me, you want _them_. That's it, Blythe."

"Don't leave without me, Bane Cad. I'm only yours, I _know _I'm only yours, _please_. Please, Cad, you can't. You can't. Just say it—"

"'Dat's right. 'Tanks for the reminder." He fingered the same coat pocket again. He pulled out what he had been surprised to find still there. Blythe gasped as she laid eyes on the small object. "Remember when you pretended you could read _'dis_? It's the little proof-of-purchase your dearest Solarin left me in Happyface the day I bought'chyu."

And Blythe let out a small childlike cry, when Bane ripped the slip of paper in two and let the pieces flutter to the ground.

Her heart gave a shudder, as it too had just been torn in half.

"You're not mine anymore, little lady."

He turned his back to her. He was walking away.

At that moment, Blythe felt all that had still stood up after his Duros friend humiliated her, finally crumble like dry sand. It was as if all this time she had been holding something back like an inward dam, and the dam had broken, and it was letting free everything bottled up inside her. She realized, once it had come down to this, why she wanted to be his and only his. And it was the worst kind of pain she had ever endured or would endure. No pain is greater than that of a breaking heart.

"Cad, don't leave without me!"

"_Blythe_. You can stop it now. Right now."

"They won't look after me, Cad! I'm just like Numa, I'm jus' property—nuttin' to them at all. I'm nuttin'. They don't take in no girls like me 'cause we jus' property. _Property_. Please, _please_..." she began to sob, "I do anythingyou want, anything at all, just please don't leave. _Don't _leave without me, Cad, you can't. Please!"

_I didn't want to kill you, Blythe..._

* * *

><p>Regretfully, Bane turned around. Blythe held her face in her hands, bending towards the ground. Her sobbing was muffled by thick, wet tears.<p>

Even after what Ael had done to her in Happyface, never had Bane see her cry like _this_. Never.

"I said _no_. Stop this, Blythe." He grinded his teeth together win frustation. Still now, she didn't know when to shut up.

But Blythe kept going. She would not stop. She knelt down on the ground in front of him.

"I can't, Bane Cad. There ain't nobody else—n-nobody else who, who buy me like you did. I still remember you when I was jus' a little girl. We were on Duros sytem, and them pirates not buying me yet. Only good memory I still got. It's that little blue boy, _you. _Cad, it's _you_. All I wanna remember. Nobody else gonna buy me like _you_ did. No one else ever done that to me and no one ever going to."

Her whole body was shaking by now, and her face and hands were drenched.

"You get it, Bane Cad? I got no one else. No one else _wants_ me. I _always_ be property to them, and that ain't never changing. Think that whole time Orett had me, anybody else gave me medicine? Anybody else gave a shit if they find me dead the next morning? They all gave me this disease stuff. Laugh while they do it, forget whole thing tomorrow. It's just _you_, Cad. It's just you. No one else ever wanted to buy me. You _bought _me, Cad! If you leave me, I won't have nothing anymore—no other reason to keep...breathing—"

"I said _stop _it, Blythe. Don'tchyu start pushing me."

Blythe jumped to her feet, her eyes raw and swollen and pleading. She grabbed for his coat. He flinched and pulled back as if she had bitten him.

"Cad—_please_, don't leave without me, they'd killme like they did to Numa when she got sick. I die alone on them doorsteps outside. They never change! If you—if you leave, I jus' won't got anything—!"

Cad didn't stop his hand from slipping down to his holster.

"I can still make one last rule and I say you're going," he snarled.

"No, Cad, I can't! I can't. _Please—_!" She grabbed for him again. Again, he flinched.

_Forgive me, Blythe._

Cad pulled out his blaster.

Blythe reached for him one last time. She was going to hold onto his arm so goddamn hard he'd have to saw it off if he wanted her to let go.

"I'd die like _her_, Cad! They won't care! I don't want—"

"I said _stop it!_"

As he said it, Cad lost all control.

Blythe heard him awaken. The burning screaming rage was back. This time she was its victim. It was a rage he had tried to bury for so long and underneath the image of being cold and emotionless. But the dragon lives on in its cave. The son can never deny how he is like his father.

Blythe shrieked, as the impact of the blow knocked her off-balance. Her head was jerked to the side, and the infant in her gave a small jump.

Cad coiled his weapon back toward his shoulder. His hand trembled. The trigger had not moved, but the handle of the blaster rang where it had struck her on the temple. She let out a cry of helplessness. He felt the rage searing through his hands, begging to break and snap things.

Like father, like son.

She was struck again. Harder.

Sobbing in terror and in pain, Blythe fell down. Her hands clasped over her mouth as if fighting back a wave of vomit.

"I'll kill you, Blythe," he said.

Cad Bane stepped back, straightened out his arm, and pointed the nose of the pistol at Blythe's lowered, bobbing head. She was wailing so loudly he wondered if anyone at the medical facility would start to hear the horrible sound. The front of her dress began to dampen as her cries were stifled by the pain.

_Now_. Now was better chance than ever to put her and the child out of misery as he had convinced himself he would.

Right _now_.

"Cad. Please..." Blythe stared at the ground, perhaps oblivious to the blaster aimed right for her. She shut her eyes, and hot tears flowed down her flushed cheeks. "D-don't leave without me. _Please_...you leave me, I don't have nuttin' anymore...Nuttin' at all..."

"I'll kill you, Blythe."

He glared down at her.

His arm and the blaster's barrel formed a straight line.

_I'll kill you._

So do it. Pull the trigger.

His hardened gaze flickered. For a second he forgot where he was. Blythe, helpless and crumbling to pieces in front of him...was his little red girl. He imagined her brains all over his lap and her blood splattered across the floor of the _Sleight of Hand _cockpit. He imagined his hands around her neck, snapping her spine like a stick, as her arched figure grinded against his one last time.

His finger slowly curled over the trigger as he felt a rush of air escape his lungs.

Suddenly, she wasn't the stupid, illiterate whore Orett Solarin had made her become. She wasn't the bearer of their child. She wasn't even the Lethan who set him on fire the night he saw her dance in Hawke Noth Cantina. None of that.

She was just an innocent Twi'lek youngling. No older than six or seven years, sitting next to him on the ground, promising that someday they would fly away to a place where they would never be hungry or thirsty again, as tall dark figures roamed nearby about to sell her off to those men who would wreck her fate.

_Duros, a vile and lonely rotten little planet…the town full of grown-ups' faces and black figures, all larger than life..._

_ A little red girl with a pair of lekku was talking to him, something about a favorite animal to have as a pet one day..._

_"You wait and see," the little red girl had said. "Someday I'm gonna catch me a big Bathwa, and I'll make it my pet. And I'll go up and up and up and I'll fly up over the rainbow, forever and forever."_

_ "That's rich," he had said quietly, wondering who this strange Twi'lek girl was._

_ "Oh, no. I'm gonna do it. I'll go up and up so high no one can touch me. I'll see what it looks like behind the clouds. You'll be sorry you said it then."_

_ "Nah," he had replied, kicking a pebble away from between his feet. "Well, if you do it, let me know what it was like."_

_ "Oh, I'm gonna take you with me. I promise. You'll see."_

_ I promise..._

So she was the last one whose voice he heard, whose small hands he touched, before the nightmare of his mother's bloody death was burned on his mind forever.

Before he had known what death looked like, sounded like, and smelled like...he knew _her_. She was _there_.

_Why aren't you pulling the trigger?_

A hot sensation began to tingle up his arm.

Now he understood.

He understood why he wanted the little red girl that wasn't there. Why he wanted that last day of innocence back even though it was already gone.

Because before his mother died, before he was riddled with the scars from his father's belt, before he shot his father with the small blaster he stole when he was seven years old, before his first bank robbery and killing of innocent civilians, and long before he met his old headmaster...

There was something he had been able to do. There was a level of openness he had been able to reach. There was a fear to it, but he held it anyway and he didn't let go of it. But then the little red girl was taken away. Then his mother was gone. Then there was nobody around him but dark strangers. And the hard times had come, times that demanded nothing short of masks and brutality, and he had learned to sell more and more pieces of what he had once held together, and it fell apart...as long as he got paid to do it, and at the right price. Now all that remained of it were distant memories as if it were a dream. But before that...

On that last day of innocence, he had been able to trust.

He had been able to lean on someone and not hold suspicions against them. He had been able to take a shoulder or a helping hand and not ask if there was a catch or a hidden weapon to backstab with.

On that last day of innocence, there had been no reputations, no masks, no doubts. Nowhere to hide and no reason to hide. It was just himself and those that—he could trust. And that willingness to trust died on that last day.

_That _was why, then.

All along, he had only needed to know he could be able to have that again. Not innocence. Trust.

But what's the point of trusting somebody? What's the point of leaving yourself open and not knowing if you'd be accepted or turned away. What's the point of surrendering control. Why convince yourself there is someone out there who will take you for all you are and never let go. And what good is trust, anyway? What good is a thing like trust in a universe where the only objects worthwhile were credits and the assurance that you could survive the rest of the day. That's all that mattered, right?

Blythe...

_"What's the matter with you?" _He could hear it now, every one of his hired partners, his enemies, and his employers _laughing_ him to all the Corellian hells, if they could see him now. _"Cad Bane, the most infamous and deadly bounty hunter of the Clone Wars, can't pull the trigger on one little Twi'lek prostitute! What the hell is this!"_

_ Just do it. Get it over with. You_ said_ you'd be ready._

Cad felt his hand, and then his whole arm, begin to tremble like an earthquake was happening inside of him. He tried to aim again, but his hand could not steady itself.

There was no point...there never had been a point...he didn't _need _it...

_Pull the trigger._

Cad shut his eyes. Then he opened them, and aimed the blaster for Blythe's head again. For a fleeting second he considered setting it for stun, knocking her out, and leaving her in front of the facility—it would be much more simple and painless. Wouldn't it be easier on his conscience to _imagine _the medics, for some unfathomable reason, took care of Blythe and repaired whatever they could of her body and her brain? Would it be so hard to pretend they didn't leave her to die on their front steps?

"_Don't_ leave without me. Please..." Blythe said one more time. "I...I do anything you want, whatever you ask, all the time. Can I jus' stay with you, Cad...?"

When the weight on his arm became too heavy, Cad Bane did something that he had never done, once, in his life.

His finger loosened on the trigger.

And he slowly lowered his weapon.

Blythe looked up at him. Her eyes were round and desperate. The dress was crumpled and wet here and there.

_"I'm gonna take you with me. I promise." _So the words of one little Twi'lek girl had somehow echoed for all these years afterward.

_Damn_, Cad thought, as the same old headache started a new symphony against his skull, pounding._ What the hell are you doing to me, Blythe?_

_ What the hell are you doing?_

You're_ killing _me.

He was becoming somebody he couldn't afford to be. Somebody who could not stand an empty, cold cockpit all to himself. Somebody who could lose control. Somebody who could not stand alone.

Cad Bane forced a calm smile on his face nevertheless. As the last of his deathstick hung from his mouth, he stared down at her, still thinking of that moment over two decades ago when she had promised to take them both over the rainbow. All the old dreams once dreamed but now buried in coffins nailed together by the scourge of those worst realities, realities that beauty is one small pinnacle faded before you realize it's there, and innocence is here one day and gone the next.

Behind the medical facility, gray and seemingly lifeless, Cad saw the last rays from the sun stretched across the horizon as if in grand finale. He could feel the warm tangerine light hit him in the face, soothing the rage that still seared within him. The same light shone down on Blythe and she appeared like fire all over again—burning, and alive.

He took a step back, staring down at this Lethan Twi'lek girl.

"Will you shoot me?" she suddenly asked.

Her throat had turned hoarse and dry, as if she had been choked. Then Blythe's eyes closed. She let out a faint wheeze, and she began to fall forward.

In a flash, Cad leaned down and caught her in his arms. He had expected her to feel light, corresponding to her body shape and mass. Instead, she was heavy, almost to the point of unbearable, and dragging him down. As he slowly lifted her from the ground, he thought for sure his spine would snap from the weight, or that his legs would give out. Clenching his jaw, he braced one arm under her shoulders, the other under her thighs, and forced himself back to his feet. Yet somehow, before the last of the sunset was gone, she was inside and lying on the cot with her arms around his neck, his hands on her legs, and his blood racing with heat.

In Cad Bane's mind, he now knew why he wanted Blythe, the little red girl.

But in his heart, he knew why he needed her.

And how he despised that knowledge.

* * *

><p><em>"Promise me if I cave in and break and leave myself open<em>  
><em> That I won't be making a mistake<em>  
><em> 'Cause I'm a space bound rocket ship and your heart's the moon<em>  
><em> And I aiming right at you<em>  
><em> Right at you<em>_"_

_-Eminem, "Space Bound"_


	21. Wretches and Kings

_Author's Note:_

_I'll be gone next week (again! I know, I'm always gone!) so the next chapter will probably take three weeks instead. But if I fit it into two weeks as usual, you'll be in for a treat._

_Thank you so much, as always, for reading._

* * *

><p><em>"Space Bound"<em>

_Chapter Twenty-One: Wretches and Kings_

* * *

><p>"<em>Steel unload, final blow<br>We the animals take control  
>Hear us now, clear and true:<br>Wretches and kings, we come for you!"_

_-Linkin Park, "Wretches and Kings"_

* * *

><p><em>"Stage One is all planned out," <em>came Aurra Sing's voice from the comlink.

"I'm listening," Cad Bane replied, staring into the dark.

_"Banquet starts tomorrow night, twenty-two hundred hours on the dot. First, my team will send smoke grenades and thermal detonators on the right wing. Embo will take his group up the front and stir the pot there. I'll pick off leftover security and stragglers from a sniping position in the back tower. Your job is on the left flank during the evacuation. Garr Broxin will be there. Take out the target and bail out before the rest of security starts pouring in. Oh yes, and, fire at will. My employers are expecting a high body count."_

"So—you plan to stage it as a political terrorist attack, or the like? Sounds like someone ticked off your boss." Suddenly he was very interested in just who was hiring Aurra Sing. But, unfortunately, his curiousity didn't make it his business.

_"I like 'em runny and jumpy. They're more entertaining that way. Besides, it's not so simple as just, well, shooting a hole through Broxin's head from a hundred yards off. Is it? It's not just an assassination we want. My employers, and maybe even you—it's a statement, right? The fat cats need a splash of spoiled milk thrown in their faces."_

Cad hesitated as he traced his finger around the comlink signal, stretching his legs out in the dimly-lit _Sleight of Hand _cockpit. Maybe he could tell Sing her guess was inaccurate with real honesty, had he had not already killed Orett Solarin. Back then, it _had_ been just a kill. A shot through the head, a lucky payday. But now it couldn't be so simple. Either he had gone too far, or Broxin had gone too deep, or both. Either way, Sing was right. So he didn't tell her she was wrong.

"Just how much of this is for you?" he blurted out instead.

He heard her clear her throat, as if deliberately giving him the impression that she was nervous. It didn't cut it.

Cad added, "Nothin' to do with how much you hate 'de Jedi, right?"

_"And what's that have to do with Garr Broxin?" _asked Sing.

Huh. So she didn't know about the little 'agreement' between Broxin and the Jedi Order, then. Cad paused. Maybe it should stay that way, for a while.

"I heard a story once," Cad said, recovering quickly, "where you pay good credits for a kidnapped Padawan, so you can practice doing what you love to do best. That would be killing Jedi, of course."

_"Where in..."_

"So, you're not so solitary as I thought you were."

_"When I need to be. You would know. You're not always such a lonely boy yourself. Why so interested in what I happen to hate?"_

Damn. She must have had a hell of a day to be pouncing on things like this. Not that Cad minded when Slim cut herself some slack. Actually, she was more fun that way.

"Guest appearances, at the banquet tomorrow...did you read up on those yet? Four Jedi Padawans will be representing the latest news on the Republican victory on Kashyyyk, to _honor the galactic military efforts_, as the HoloNet put it. I do my homework too, y'know."

_"Are you offering what I think you are? I thought you don't take prisoners, Bane." _But he tasted a thirst in her voice, a thirst for blood. Jedi blood.

Cad personally didn't know the story, but somewhere along the way Aurra Sing had developed some unquenchable loathing for the Jedi Order. An old associate of hers Cad ran into at one point claimed that Sing had killed a Padawan for no payment at all, just for the fun of it. The more he thought about that story, the more Cad didn't want details or the reasons behind it.

After all, he had once held a bit of respect for the Jedi and their Force-tricks and 'mindful, negotiating' ways. But, not anymore. That respect had died by a lightsaber on Nal Hutta.

Shit, perhaps now he wasn't so different from Sing as he thought he was.

"If the plan asks for their death in the long run, I don't call 'dem prisoners," Cad answered.

_"Sure, you don't," _Sing cackled. _"Give me time to chew on that offer. Depending on where Broxin's brains land tomorrow night, I might need to take it out on someone. Some Twi'lek Jedi took away my trophy lightsaber collection and I've been needing to pick it up again, anyway."_

"I got a couple questions to ask you, too, face-to-face."

_"Really?" _she drawled, as if bored. _"Well, now that you mention it. Tomorrow afternoon, we're assembling at a cantina near the main hangar to review the plan, and so you can meet the rest of the team."_

"You and cantina meetings..." he purred.

_"Oh yeah, and one more thing. I was going to bring it up to Embo, but..." _her voice trailed—a bit odd for her. _"You know that 'warning' we were getting, or thought we were getting from our employer Lord Sidious, a few weeks back?"_

"Sure. Why?"

_"Let's stay light on our toes tomorrow night. I got this...this feeling."_

"Like what?"

And he never had, nor never would again, hear Aurra Sing confess,

_"I don't know."_

* * *

><p>Embo shook his head in reply when Aurra Sing offered him a drink. He had never been a drinking man, nor thought he could afford to be, as a few too many shots could turn even the deadliest and well experienced mercenary into a stooping Bantha-fodder fool. Not to mention a decent reputation that was at stake.<p>

She second-glanced at him, but said nothing.

"We will rendevous at twenty-one-hundred hours at the hangar and proceed to the airspeeders. Final preparations and our own personal maps will be handed out. Then at exactly ten minutes after the twenty-second hour, we hit the Opera House," Sing said to those assembled.

Those gathered around the table nodded. The group was huddled in a back corner of the small, dusty, Coruscant cantina. Most were barely armed save a small blaster or dagger for protection, but one or two including Sing had a rifle slung over their back. Cad glanced over the collection of ragged-looking gunman in either Embo or Sing's team—a few humans, Zeltrons, a Devaronian, a couple Pantorans, even an adolescent Noghri. Those Embo had recruited concealed their usual wear with dark ponchos, some adding a tortilla-shaped black hat to the apparel. They looked green, but not unintelligent, the quiet and brooding type silently sipping at their Membrosias. Sing's hired hands, however, huddled in place with tightly-gloved hands folded in their laps, eyes cast to the ground. Not only did they look green as well, but young, skinny. Maybe even afraid. Like they had come straight out of a Tattooine orphanage.

An interesting mix.

"It will be staged as a protest—or a terrorist attack out of political biases," Embo added, folding one thumb over the other.

Cad Bane stole an ever-so-slight gesture at Sing, who sat two seats down. She dipped her chin. He let out a nasty cough before his breathing tubes helped him recover, then said,

"You new recruits should know the rules. Everything goes according to the plan. Nothing spontaneous or funny. Anybody who runs off on their own scheme and blows our cover won't come out alive. That's a guarantee. Hope you figured out we're not here to play games or shit around. Understand?"

The younger-looking recruits nodded feverishly, while the others cast their gaze down. Cad Bane gave a brief survey over each of their faces. Fresh. A few, like the Noghir and most of the humans, would barely qualify as adults. Possibly had yet to break into their new outfits. He noticed how they stared up at the three bounty hunters. In their eyes, the Kyuzo, the Duros, and the female hybrid were probably about as veteran as you could get.

Shit. New kids on the block with those round eyes staring up at him like he were a fucking god. He didn't like it. He looked away and ignored them.

But they all smelled the same to him—timid, and afraid. Definitely afraid, and mentally promoting him to the rank of a god.

"Any questions?" asked Sing.

Cad began tapping his index finger on the rim of his empty glass. At this hour of the night, traffic in the cantina was slower, and raising one's voice above normal speaking level would be the loudest sound in the room. Nothing could be heard but the surrounding clinking, scraping, murmuring of conversations, and the faint commotion from the far back as was expected. There was a pause at the table, like a hiccup.

"Fine. We'll see you on the other side," Sing snapped.

The group, individually, rose to depart. Cad did not glance around the cantina—he was pretty damn positive he had held off the Corrino's and Dio's at least for the moment. They would come for him to keep the game going, but it was a dying game. Everybody knew that.

A deathstick—a deathstick—he could save one for the apartment, later, with Blythe. He'd suffice with just a smoke or a toothpick for now, and _then_ a deathstick, just one.

As Sing walked past him to walk into the hangar, she shot him a look—a very Aurra-esque arch of one eyebrow and a gnarled twisting of the other, in addition to a nibble on the inside of the right cheek. It was as if she had just read his thoughts. Before Cad could respond, he noticed one of the fresh, younger recruits was standing in front of him to the side. It was a young human girl with a padded vest much like Sing's, a question stuck to her pale tongue.

"Are you Cad Bane, sir? The real Bane?" she asked.

At that, Sing's look vanished, and she took off after Embo. Cad Bane wanted to growl in contempt.

_Hell to that screwy dame. Setting me up with kids. Human kids at that._

Cad crossed his arms, loosely replying the kid's gaze. Again, he could pick up the smell of fear and timidity even from the way she leaned against the wall.

But everyone has fear, and it is only a matter of admitting you have it at all, like a cartoon porn holovid.

"I don't rightly believe that's the real question you have in mind, little lady," he purred.

"Any advice when we get out there?" she asked. Then, as if to clear some confusion, the kid added, "It's my first time. I've never done this before."

"Here's 'de best piece I got that's still free," he said slowly, despising every second of it. "The better you are at something, 'de less you can enjoy it."

Before the kid could ask anything more, Cad slipped to the side, but not before tipping his hat at her and saying,

"Know how you'll always know that it's me? It's 'dis hat. Nobody else has a hat like 'dis one."

As he walked away, leaving the kid to tag along for her team leader, he had a discontented and sickening thought. It was the same jab of uneasinesss that snagged him after Solarin let him purchase Blythe for thirty-thousand credits—the thought that Solarin had almost wanted to give her up and deliberately gave in like a cheap little shit.

Now it felt as if somebody, somewhere, for some reason, _wanted_ them to pull off this stunt and take down Garr Broxin. Somebody was letting, maybe even pushing, for these things to happen and fall into place. Like tomorrow night was just another piece on a gameboard, another card in a sabaac hand. Was there an audience, watching? Was there a deliberate motive behind it all?

He did not know where in the hell that thought had come from.

This time, it did not go away as easily as before. It stuck, just like the headache.

* * *

><p>When Cad Bane left to meet with his new posse, as he had dubbed the group, Blythe found herself alone and hiding back in the small apartment he had dubbed Number 1, telling herself over and over not to be frightened.<p>

She knew there was little to fear. Cad had been certain no one saw them enter or exit the apartment, except for one poor soul in the wrong place at the wrong time who had recieved a subtle shot to the head. The door was sealed, the windows closed. A long night of waiting had swallowed her.

Aside from those reasons to fear, and even in spite of them, she felt very afraid.

And helpless.

Perhaps Blythe did not enjoy the idea of being left alone, even for one night, just her and the five-month old child. Left alone to her and her thoughts and fears.

"You're coming back for me, right, Cad?" she had asked him.

He had pulled out one of his blasters and set it rather roughly on the table as a reply, before snapping on his hat.

"Now you'll know for sure," he had replied.

So Blythe was left to wait and ignore the images that increasingly seemed to pop out from the shadows—of the day she was sold on Duro, of the day Broxin gave her the initiation, of all her dances in places like Mos Eisley, Glee Ansom, Nar Shaadaa, and countless more without daring to look at the ravenous faces of the men and occasional women. How long she had been able to ignore them.

Ghosts. They all jus' ghosts.

Ghosts with voices. Ghosts with fingers. Ghosts that played a game of pazaak on your chest until your throat bled from screaming.

No, she wasn't alone. She had the ghosts.

_Don't you remember, Blythe. Don't you dare remember, because if you do it will hurt more than anything you could imagine. The memories we've taught us how to forget will kill you. Just don't think about it. Keep going. Keep letting your Bane Cad do what he wants even if it means letting yourself do what you want. Just don't think._

She leaned on the side of the bed. She wished she knew any sort of lullaby so she could sing to him—or her—but any she had learned before had been learned out of her. So instead, she sat, quietly, humming a meaningless melody over and over. At the worst moments, she looked up at the blaster he had left behind and reminded herself he would come back. Blythe hummed all night long until her throat ran dry, and then she kept humming, caressing her womb.

Not knowing what was going to happen.

But if he came back, that was all that mattered to Blythe. Nothing else.

So she remained with the ghosts and their voices and fingers, facing the long night ahead, as lightyears away a final battle raged on the Utapau system between a Jedi Master and a Separatist cyborg.

* * *

><p><em>"<em>_There is a time when the operation of the machine becomes so odious, makes you so sick at heart, that you can't take part - you can't even passively take part - and you've got to put your bodies upon the gears and upon the wheels, upon the levers, upon all the apparatus, and you've got to make it stop. And you've got to indicate to the people who run it, to the people who own it, that unless you're free, the machine will be prevented from working at all!"_

__-Mario Savio, Berkeley 'Gears' Speech, 1964__

* * *

><p>It was night in the Coruscant underworld. These bottom levels of Coruscant never saw real daylight, only a few glimpses here and faint traces there, but even those were sometimes just illusions of another unattainable reality.<p>

The beginnings of a late-night banquet outside the Galactic Opera House stirred to life. Illumination banks were lit, surrounded by changing-color sun-globes. Republican guards straightened to protect the VIP's who began to exit their skyhoppers and tread the red carpet toward the main source of life at the banquet hall. In the corner, a musical band kicked off the night with a smooth jazz rendition of the song, of all songs, "Jedi Rocks". From a cluster of neatly organized dining tables rose the aroma of an array of foods, a feast for the full—sweetcakes, white dwarf gravy, Orange-Madeira sauce, deep-fried meattail and yobshrimp and ashkar, Likryt stew, and the finest of imported Corellian cuisine. Near the food were even more wines of all sorts of flavors from the Alderaan, Bothan, and Mandalorian systems. Small clusters of audiences made their way around the hall as the conversations came and went, applauding softly like a contagious ripple spreading throughout. Males were dressed in their finest garments with silk robes decorated in the fashion of their native system, and females were adorned with layers upon layers of gold and silver jewelry that covered their arms and faces, and makeup that hid their true appearance.

Above it all, the old song continued, and sang out into the dazzling Coruscant night. A calm, bright night filled with food and drink, music, laughter and cheer, and many a raved-about guest appearance at the banquet, including at least a dozen Senators and Representatives from the neutral systems, as well as one or two Jedi Padawans to comment on the war victories. There Garr Broxin would be, bloating his stomach with the delicacies laid out before him, flowing in and out of the chit-chat and the crowds, for everyone was aware he was an entrepeneur of some sort—but nobody wanted to talk about what exactly he was an entrepeneur of. There Garr Broxin would be, waiting for the calm and the bright to all come to one sudden halt. And sparks would fly. A fire ignited.

While miles below, Cad Bane knew Blythe lay on some level of pain in the Number 1 apartment, mumbling to herself or swallowing another handful of pills. She might stare up at the blaster he left behind and hope he would come back as he said he would. She might be remembering things. Who knows? What would happen to her if he never did come back?

This machine that churned in the upper levels of Coruscant—and every other 'non-physical' upper level on any other system—could no longer operate in this way. It would not _tonight_. Tonight, that was going to change. They would get a taste of the oil that dripped from their mechanical gears onto the levels below. They would see what happens when they supported men like Orett Solarin and Garr Broxin. Bodies thrown upon the gears, upon the wheels, and the apparatus of this machine.

The moment was reminiscent, for Cad Bane, of an earlier time months ago. Force, that would have been way back when he still clung to some level of respect for the Jedi Order, and was still able to look on them with some concept of dignity. Which, he was now certain, had also been burned to death down to the Nal Hutta Hell, buried next to the body of the Jedi Master.

May Garr Broxin lie with it before the sun rose again.

The time for order and plans was not now. Now, chaos was being called for.

Cad Bane could be a catalyst for chaos when the situation called for such measures. No, even better—an agent of chaos.

Behind where he sat in the co-pilot seat of the airspeeder, Aurra Sing's team of recruits fidgeted. One of them, the human who cornered him in the cantina, was gripping her DC-10x sniper rifle as if her life depended on it. Sing herself piloted the airspeeder, staring straight ahead with no exception of remarks, smirks, or glances. Traffic lights and neon beams from the moving billboards were reflected on their newly-cleaned blaster rifles and the thermal detonators across their belts. Cad began stroking his left breathing tube again.

Blythe will be all right, he told himself.

As the illumination banks poured light overhead, Sing landed the airspeeder down on a landing platform below the Galaxies Opera House banquet hall. Darkness suddenly swept them, save for a faint glow from a turbolift on the opposite side of the platform. "Jedi Rocks" shifted into the chorus overhead, and clapping erupted once again from the banquet guests. Two more airspeeders behind Sing's followed her lead. Even before they had touched down, the recruits jumped out and hurried to their positions. The younger and fresher of Sing's team stumbled once or twice, slinging their rifles over their backs and doing their best to steady their breathing. Embo followed last, taking off his shield-hat—probably so as to not be known as associating with this so-called staged terrorist attack—which, on the record, could be a good or bad thing in the long run.

Bane kept his hat on.

Garr Broxin was going to know his killer by name.

Bane looped his thumb under the string of smoke grenades slung over his shoulder, as he pulled out his remaining blaster. He was about to hop out and follow the others, when he heard Sing speak up. Just by the tone of her voice, he knew she was addressing him. He hesitated.

"_Chess ko_, Bane," she murmured, hands glued to the dashboard.

_Good luck._

As Bane jumped out and landed on the platform, he scanned his gaze over hers. The faint sounds of the banquet hummed far above—cheering, laughing, and music, a delightful melody ridden with the smells of wine and most expensive of clothing.

"Don't pretend you care, Slim. It's not good for your health," he said.

"Then maybe _you _should." Sing's eyes turned to lime-green ice. "I know about the girl. Blythe."

Cad's eyes flickered, but nothing else on his face changed. He couldn't let it.

"I'll see you on the other side." Then Sing, turning away to stare straight ahead, pulled the airspeeder away from the platform. One lone recruit, another sniper, sat behind her. He watched her go, inwardly rounding off the first dozen or so curses that came to mind, to start off.

_Blythe. _What exactly was Sing threatening? That Blythe wasn't safe?

What did someone like Aurra Sing know about _safe_, anyway?

"Let's keep moving," Embo muttered in his own tongue.

"The party ain't going nowhere." But Cad Bane walked alongside him as Embo's ear comlink indicated the time was seven minutes after twenty-two hundred hours. The other mercenaries followed behind the two bounty hunters to form a triangular group, approaching the designated turbolift without breaking a stride. The glow of upper-level Coruscant nightlife illuminated their silhouettes. In front of them, none but blackness. In the shadows, they were concealed completely save for the rare glint from a weapon, as well as an ever present pair of glowing red eyes faded in saturation around the edges.

Two Republican guards in front of the turbolift, suddenly wide awake, raised their rifles at the sound of approaching footsteps.

"Halt! Stop!"

"_Bang_," a young male human whispered, squeezing his smoke grenade.

Embo shot the first. Bane the second. Both guards fell to the ground silently as the echo of the blasts rang throughout the open hangar. There was not so much as another glance towards them as the group walked on, stepping over the bodies. The bomb and detonator specialists, faces hidden by tortilla hats and dark ponchos, entered the turbolift first, followed by the extra rifleman, and finally the two lone veterans. Yet even when the door hissed shut, that music could still be heard from above. That beautiful, well-rehearsed, lighthearted music.

Bane reviewed the schedule mentally. In twenty seconds, Sing and the other sniper would be in position. In forty seconds, the turbolift would stop on the floor of the Opera House's banquet hall.

And, he thought with a growing inward smile, in forty-_one_ seconds...all hell was going to break loose.

Come down to hell with us, where everything burns.

The turbolift gave a slight groan, and then began to rise up through the shaft, humming peacefully. The recruits in the back held still and readjusted their ponchos to better fold over their arms. Two peach-fuzz for extras who were apparently Bane's cover stood behind his shoulders. He could actually hear their shins knock against the inside of their boots, and their slippery fingers coil over the triggers of their weapons. Both were young males, possibly Mandalorian, fresh out of some underground academy or scraped up out of a juvenile detention center—he knew the type. Bane had to wonder if it was Sing or Embo who dared stick them in, but there was no time for that.

He slowly tightened his grip on the cold blaster. Twenty seconds. Aurra was in her position by now, peering at many an offical or VIP through the scope of her DC-16x rifle. The youngest in the group were breathing heavily, swallowing fist-sized lumps in their throats. They looked like explosives themselves that would blast into oblivion if someone so much as tapped their shoulder.

Ten seconds.

Embo, at Bane's side, turned and gave him the slightest glance of acknowledgement. Mercenary to mercenary, as if. But Bane did not return it.

Broxin was here. Kill Garr Broxin. Show his enemies what he was made of. Show what even one man could do when he had seen the things a man like Broxin does.

We are coming for you.

The doors hissed open, the loudest sound they had heard that night. Before them lay a sea of oily laughter, brilliant colors worn in layers by the richest officials, numerous sickly-sweet scents from the tables of food and wine, and the final notes to "Jedi Rocks".

A Republican security staff, who had been stationed in front of the turbolift, turned around and saw them. Then he hesitated in oblivious confusion at the new 'guests' who had just arrived.

One of the lead gunman stabbed him in the solar plexus with a rifle, which wringed out a loud cry of shock and pain. Bane, Embo, and the rest jumped out of the turbolift before the guard had so much as hit the ground and ate a laser bolt to the forehead. But the crowds scattered at the Galaxies Opera House banquet hall could not even turn their heads in the direction of the sudden noise. There was that little time.

The song ended. The smallest silent whisper of a gasp as the guard keeled over and the crowd just began to turn.

Then, the lead detonator specialists tossed back their ponchos, hurtling their smoke grenades in the air towards the right wing. The silent whisper touched the roof of Bane's mouth like a butterfly wing, and his throat went dry.

The first shot fired by one of Sing's recruits. The first smell of burning flesh. The first scream. The first catalyst of what was to become chaos.

And, in light of what it was staged to be, the younger recruits began a furious chant as they ran along the side of the hall, holding out their weapons.

"The Senate is corrupted! The Senate is self-serving! Remember your citizens!" A false cry either Sing or Embo must have come up with before the mission, Bane figured. But how real it sounded.

Another round of grenades were thrown into the crowd, followed by feminine screams from both genders. Explosions ensued that, any stronger, would have rattled Bane's teeth out of his mouth. They were that startling, and yes, chaotic.

As Bane turned, his shoulder brushing Embo's when the detonator specialists raced in front of them, he saw the first official—a disgustingly-obese Togrutan with a velvet purple robe—fall dead.

That was when hell broke loose.

Smoke, putrid pale smoke, jetted into the air, clotting the light from the sun-globes suspended above. Shots penetrated the crowds. Almost instantly following were shrieks of confusion and utter horror. Nothing but those screams filled the air, no longer such a sweet melody. And always, following it, the chant against the Senate.

"The Senate is corrupted! The Senate is self-serving! Remember your citizens!" How real it sounded.

Bane sprinted for the left flank. Blocking his path ahead were dozens of people, runny and jumpy, racing for the exit. He flinched as detonators took out the far corner, destroying the turbolift. Embo, meanwhile, led his team in the opposite direction, as they tossed thermal detonators at the fleeing crowds. An explosion sounded that blew a table piled high with Alderaan, Bothan, and Mandalorian wine to bits. Glass shards were hurtled in all directions. Another explosion shattered the right wing's illumination bank. Staying light on his feet, Bane slank out of one of the smoke grenade fumes and shot at a small cluster of fleeing guests that would have gotten in his way.

The faces of the artificially enraged and half-concealed, and the terrified and pitied, the wounded, the suffocated, and the first round of dead carpeting the ground, flashed around like in that of a drug-induced nightmare. Chaos. Hell. Everything on fire. But it felt good to burn.

Even as Bane, scanning the VIP entrance for the face of Garr Broxin he had studied hours ago, he had to pause, and take in a brief delight.

He smiled at the sound of civilian screams, at the aroma of sweetcakes and Corellian cuisine burning to tasteless ash, at the sight of wine and glass and blood spraying a marble floor once so clean you could see your own reflection. It was too beautiful. The confusion over what the hell was happening. The terror of how is this happening to us, the ignorance of why this is happening to us. It all smelled as sweet to Cad Bane as the fresh air after stepping out of that dump for a slaughterhouse on Ryloth.

As Bane rang alongside the two Mandalorians, who covered him by firing at the stationed Republican guards, he took in a shallow breath through his breathing tubes.

_Shit_. It smelled _so _good. He had almost forgotten how much he loved chaos.

No longer a catalyst of it, but an agent. A bearer. A creator.

We are coming for you and your kind, Garr Broxin. We are coming to rattle you out of your money beds and wake you up to a thousand screaming faces. We will no longer take part in this cat-and-mouse hunt you treat as a game. Our only audience is ourselves. Our only goal is to prevent your little machine from working at all. We will simply stand back and ask you how it feels to be the one burning.

For the second and last time, Cad Bane wanted to see what it was like to make a kill out of vengeance. A beautiful, sweet vengeance.

"The Senate is corrupted! The Senate is self-serving! Remember your citizens!" the recruits cried. This time, the chant was spread out among both the left and right wings of the banquet hall. It was as if the crowds were being surrounded by it.

A heavily-clothed Pantoran woman, at least a foot shorter than Bane, leaped out into his path. In an attempt to escape the smoke and main source of destruction in the hall, she had separated from her associates. Her ten or so layers of jewelry jingled and tingled like goddamn music. Her face was plastered with makeup that complimented her natural beauty.

She looked up and saw the Duros bounty hunter with the wide-brimmed hat, and she let out a raw cry of fear.

Still smiling, Bane snatched her by a handful of her jewelry, then coiled his fingers around her throat. He clenched his jaw and slowly curled his upper lip, revealing a dark yellow fang. Her big, round, doll-like eyes stared up at him, horrified.

"What's de' matter, pretty-face?" he snarled, holding up his blaster in his other hand, as his gaze turned cold. "Never seen a dead body before? Hm? Never smelled it?"

Too exhilerated by other ideas of kill, Bane threw her to the ground and lazily shot her in the head. She gave a little twitch and nothing more.

Find Garr Broxin. Kill Garr Broxin. Kill.

Foreign shots—from weapons he was certain none of them had brought with—filled the air. One of the poncho-dressed figures was hit in the back. The two Mandalorians disappeared in the smoke and faded in with Sing's team, leaving Bane out in the open and surrounded by the shrieks of the crowd that scattered like terrified red ants. His head swam but for now the headache would be merciful, and left him in an underwater dance submerged in blood. Not that he minded. No, he'd rather take Broxin all to himself. Sharing was never fun. He shot a haggled, bruised, and bloody officer in the chest as he fumbled for his weapon. Then a straggler, an escort of some sort who almost barreled right into Bane's side in the rush.

"The Senate is corrupted! The Senate is self-serving! Remember your citizens!"

Yes. It smelled so good. So good, and _sweet..._

_"Bane. Bane, come in."_

From the comlink on his wrist gauntlet, Aurra Sing's voice crackled. Bane, ducking his head to avoid another round of shots from the guards, slipped behind a table that had been toppled over. In a split second he realized he had knelt down in a colorful rainbow mess of spoiled rich food, still steaming. Some unlucky Ithorian's scattered brains had landed in the Orange-Madeira sauce—my, what a shame.

_"Come in, Bane!"_

Sing sounded as if she had just been shot.

"Talk to me," Bane hissed, pulling down on the rim of his hat. Three detonators—_one, two..._and _three—_rattled the left wing, further driving the remaining crowd into a series of terrified squeals.

Black smoke suffocated the last of the sun-globes. Arms of fire were already raging not too far from the turbolift. Some guest with a high-pitched voice was being burned alive, writhing on the marble floor.

_"Broxin's not here. He's _not here._"_

"What...?"

No Broxin? The fuck—

Security sirens began to wail in the distance, as a trio of GAR skyhoppers appeared around the bend.

"The Senate is corrupted! The Senate is—"

_"Broxin cancelled his appearance at the banquet. He's not _here_."_

_ I'm not going to believe that..._

And something snapped inside Cad Bane.

"You said he would be here," he muttered dryly into the comlink, flinching as another table was toppled over in the hellish scramble. "You said he'd be at the banquet, he was going to be here, he's the only reason we came at all. No, he is here. He had to be here."

_"Goddamnit, Bane, a hologram message was just hacked back at the hangar. Broxin canceled his appearance and left two hours ago." _She hesiated, probably to fire her rifle—for an instant he shut his eyes and pictured her talking to him, staring into the scope as she picked off stragglers and officers. _"Bane, you have to find Embo. You have to get out of there. Right now."_

But that's the thing about chaos. Once you let it off the leash, it was impossible to stop it, or hinder it, or so much as keep up. You don't 'back away' from chaos. You just stand back and watch the world burn. Maybe even catch on fire yourself.

Then, Bane heard the sound that, in the back of his mind, he had been expecting to hear all the while. It was a sharp hiss, followed by a shrill hum that cut through the air not even from five yards away. A youth's scream followed—one of Sing's fresh recruits.

A lightsaber. The Jedi guests had finally arrived.

_Jedi—_a word as disgusting as Broxin's very name.

Again, it was as if Sing read his thoughts.

_"Go for it," _she said. _"Broxin's off the menu. Jedi is on."_

* * *

><p>"<em>Steel unload, final blow<br>Filthy animals beat them low!  
>Skin and bone, black and blue<br>No more the sun shall beat onto you!"_

_-Linkin Park, "Wretches and Kings"_


	22. An Agent of Chaos

_"Space Bound"_

_Chapter Twenty-Two: An Agent of Chaos_

* * *

><p>"<em>What have I become<br>My sweetest friend  
>Everyone I know goes away in the end<br>And you could have it all  
>My empire of dirt<br>I will let you down  
>I will make you hurt "<em>

_-Johnny Cash, "Hurt"_

* * *

><p>"Sing," Bane hissed into his comlink. He looked up in time to see Embo backing from a wave of the crowd coming towards him. The Kyuzo bounty hunter raised and fired his bowcaster, shattering one of the illumination banks over their heads.<p>

_"You have to alert Embo, and get out of there."_

"Funny how this vital piece of information was only ten minutes too late. Isn't it?"

_"What are you saying?" _Sing suddenly sounded like her old self again.

"Be ready with the airspeeder in five minutes," Bane said curtly. He pried his back off the toppled-over table, looking out towards the sound of the humming, slashing lightsaber. Where was it coming from? Front? Behind? The side?

_"Three minutes," _Sing replied.

"Four."

_"Three and a half."_

"Oh, you know me." Before Sing could reply, he cut the signal.

Then, he found it. Jumping up from the crowd and tearing off a dark-chocolate robe, was a young Pantoran Jedi bearing a green lightsaber. As Bane watched for a split second, the Padawan landed in front of one of the dark poncho gunman and, without hesitation, drove the weapon through his stomach. With a cry, the gunman fell. Bane instinctively raised his blaster and fired several rounds at the small, blue figure.

Damn. So Broxin would live to see another sunset after all.

Dammit to hell and _shit_.

"Remember the citizens!"

Bane turned away from the scene, and broke out in a straight run back for the turbolift. An arm of flames had nearly caught it on fire, and would, if he didn't arrive in time. He glanced around to retrace where Embo had gone. When he did, though, he did nothing to attract Embo's attention—if he had brains, he would get the message and follow.

A remaining Republican officer barrled into Bane's side a second later. Bane, on impluse, elbowed his attacker across the jaw and kicked his legs out from under him, before shooting the officer in the chest. Then he broke out running again, cursing out both Garr Broxin and Aurra Sing all the while.

Embo paused before throwing his shield-hat at another illumination bank. He swallowed hard, his Kyuzo traits sensing a sudden change that was not in their favor. It was too plain. The way Aurra Sing's youthful recruits were beginning to scatter and chant as if in desperation, the growing number of his own that were down, and Bane's retreating back to the turbolift—all pointed to what should have been obvious from the get-go: the plan was a failure. An utter failure.

His yellow eyes turned a shade darker. He spun around and fired his bowcaster at the Jedi Padawan twenty feet distance from him, realizing the research had been accurate. The Order had wanted to be represented at the banquet by a youth, since Masters or even Knights were occupied with the end of the war. Beside him, two more of Embo's gunman fell to the shots of a fresh wave of security, pouring from a dropping airspeeder. Then three. Now he only had four left.

The Jedi Padawan had swept to the side of the fleeing crowd, ordering them to make for the emergency exit. Tucking his bowcaster in his arms, Embo dove to the floor to dodge an array of flying laser bolts. When he had rolled back to his feet, he ran head-on for the turbolift, being sure to make his path occasionally zig-zagged to better his chances of not getting hit.

Bane glanced over his shoulder. He almost let out a sigh of relief when he saw that Embo was behind him, as well as a small handful of recruits. The rest were either still shouting the anti-Senate chant and throwing detonators into what was left of the crowd, or lay bleeding their guts out onto the bodies of their victims.

It was a sight to behold. The Corellian cuisine foods and exquisite wines were sprawled out all over the stainless marble in a combination that resembled more like rancor vomit than a rich feast. Men and women of various species, mostly humanoid or mammilian, lay strewn across the floor riddled with black holes and stubs where limbs had been blown off. Among them were nearly all of Sing's green, young recruits—unnamed, unknown, uncalled for, uncared for, and undone. Stampeding over the carnage were the fresh waves of security and the edges of the scrambling clusters. One easily picked up the ugly smell of death mixed with the stink of fear.

It almost made one proud. This chaos, it was _theirs_. It was their creation.

And above it all, the Jedi Padawan had engaged the bounty hunter Embo. Landing in front of him with a double slash of his lightsaber, Embo had a mere instant to pull out his shield-hat and protect himself.

Bane spun around on his heel at the sound. He took quick aim and fired, which briefly caught the Padawan out of his Force-induced concentration. It was enough for Embo to dive away from what would have been a certain decapitation. He backed up, tossed out his shield-hat, as Cad Bane fired again.

"Need a little help?" Bane snarled, more out of sarcasm than genuine exasperation.

Embo glanced at him like one would look at a young child who had used the worst of vulgarities at a family reunion.

"If I did, you'd be the last one I'd ask for it," he replied in his own language.

"You're welcome," Bane muttered, as he shot another officer to the ground. "I'm bailing out. Broxin isn't here. Collect your team."

"If they want to leave, they'll leave," Embo said simply.

People who had never heard a blaster bolt hit and burn flesh, never seen one drop of blood, were screaming in terror all around them as the bounty hunters ran to the turbolift. The Padawan perked up, spotted them, and leaped into the air, lightsaber poised over his head. It was at that moment that the final detonation shattered the last of the untouched tranquility of the banquet hall. Chaos. Hell for a weakling who wore nice clothes and had never seen places like the Ryloth slaughterhouse—Hawke Noth Cantina—a Republican prison cell—a Nal Hutta swamp—beautiful, treacherous chaos.

The first pounds of a returning hedache began to ache behind Cad Bane's eyes. Seemingly right on time.

He blinked, trying to shake it off. He briefly covered Embo's back, who had turned around to fire at the Jedi Padawan. But it was too late.

But Bane could make it—he could make it to the turbolift. They had two minutes, fifty-eight seconds left. He felt Embo's elbow jab his side. Three more officers fell. Fresh smoke—scattering crowd—lightsaber swinging for his head. He slipped out of the way with half an inch to spare.

_They _must be the ones who feel helpless now. How sweet the sound!

_ Helpless..._

"Speed up, Bane. I can't shake the Jedi." Embo fired his bowcaster again.

Bane pinched the brim between his eyes as he paused, taking one last step closer. An arm of fire came near to catching on the edge of his coat.

"And?" he replied. "Let's improvise."

_Made it._

Bane clenched his fist on the turbolift controls. Luckily, security hadn't thought to lock down all the power just yet—unless they were seconds from becoming very unlucky. The doors opened and Bane ducked inside as the flames began to spread to the first dozen or so corpses strewn across the banquet hall.

In the turbolift, Bane turned around just as three gunman—_three_, out of at least a dozen—ran into the elevator behind the two bounty hunters. Two more stragglers fifty or so feet behind let out a loud cry for assistance from their comrades, until fresh security shot them to pieces. Blaster bolts literally ripping muscle and flesh from their small, skinny bodies. Then the doors were closed.

As the turbolift descended, all that was heard were the echoing explosions and shrieks of chaos. Bane heard little of it as he squeezed down on his blaster, as if for dear life. Blinding white lights were flashing in his eyes. He bit down on his bottom lip to brace the headache back. Before long, he tasted his own blood.

Up until now, Bane never considered himself claustrophobic. However, it was all he could do to hope that the power did not shut down before they had fully descended down, lest they be trapped and left to be blown to bits.

"Damn..." one of the younger recruits gasped, pressing a hand against the side of a head wound that was bleeding all over his neck and shoulder.

In Bane's state, lights like from that of an apporaching train stung to the point of cold needles stabbing his eyes all across. Thus, he would never know for sure if he did or did not notice a small portion of the recruit's skull and brain visible through the blown-away skin and muscle.

He did know that the recruit was dead two seconds the turbolift doors finally opened to the hangar, and lay down in a pool of his own thick, chunky blood. The last of the them raced out into the cold, lethal night, where Aurra Sing was tapping a finger on the outside of the lone airspeeder. Somebody behind Bane was coughing up blood, whispering the word "_Bang, bang,_"over and over as if it were the only thing keeping him sane. When Sing saw how few had returned, she raised an eyebrow and shook her head, as if in disappointment.

Above the airspeeder, Bane saw a swooshing flash of green. A dark figure landed less than ten feet behind Sing. A second later it occurred to him that it was the Padawan, still insisting on staying on their tails. Embo drew out his bowcaster.

Bane fired at the small dark figure. Shots were deflected, flying out into the darkness. The headache was so bad he could have been hit by one of them and not even know it. It was just that hellish pounding, repeating, repeating, and over again. Sing jumped up, spun, and kicked the Padawan across the side. In return, she narrowly missed a lightsaber swing aimed for her shoulders.

Embo arched back his arm. And his bowcaster soared with invisible wings, at lightning speed.

Did Cad Bane drop to his knees from that beating pain in his head? He did not know. He just knew that someone kicked him in the back a moment later, and the hum of that lightsaber was abruptly silenced, followed by a scream that became muffled. Embo was reclaiming his bowcaster. Sing was shouting. Someone was still coughing up blood.

"What you got to say to us when we get back, you little shit?" Sing was hissing. She threw a small, dark object to the floor of the airspeeder and yanked out her stun blaster, plugging it twice. Then she leaned down back in her seat.

The Republican security sirens, by then, were wailing loud and clear the next floor up. If one concentrated, one could smell the smoke and the burning flesh, a sweet aroma.

He got up.

"Bane, Embo. We have to leave _now_," said Sing.

Hell for the insider. Heaven for the outsider.

* * *

><p>Two hours later, the airspeeder had returned to the rendevous position. It was a gray, dank hangar bay with cheap rent, right next door to a poor excuse for a casino and black market bargain-price sector. Down only half a block's worth away—though it required cutting through several alleys—was apartment Number 1, where Blythe was waiting. Sing landed the airspeeder between <em>Hand <em>and Embo's personal starfighter, after which her recruits were quick to jump out and take the writhing Padawan bundle with them.

It was easy to believe the worst had passed for the night. That one side had suvived a bloody attack, while the other side had staged an act all for nothing.

Cad Bane was too enraged to think about the unconscious Padawan. He thought of the time he had wasted—the pointless endeavor. The preparation, the buildup, the anticipation to wring Broxin's skinny pink neck. And now it all sat in a rotten pile somewhere deep in his gut.

One side was now forced to undergo heavy security measures for the remainder of a long night, among the destruction of their attacked banquet. Meanwhile, the other side retreated to the back of a dank, abandoned hall connected to the hangar bay, as the young Padawan with the Force-restraining cuffs was placed into a minature containment field.

The remaining recruits, strangely enough, vanished as soon as their weapons had been turned in and their datapads updated. Sing said a few inaudible words to them just outside her private quarters, but nothing more happened. Cad Bane couldn't care less.

He had been lucky enough to swindle a handful of deathsticks off the kid who cornered him at the cantina prior to the attack. After that, he quickly walked the distance towards the apartment. The alleys were for the most part deserted save for the few streetwalkers and drug dealers looking for enough credits to buy another drink or a bed for the night, and the air stunk of blood and bodily filth. But the small apartment appeared unscathed and just as he had left it, which helped.

The first thing Blythe asked when he opened the door and found her, was not what he had been expecting.

"Bane Cad. Can we leave now?"

Cad stared down at her, or what he could see of her where she sat on the bed. Shrill grinding like that of metal on metal hurt his forehead, tempting a cold wave of nausea. His back was unconsciously braced against the closed door as he unfastened the breathing tubes, fingers slipping on the metal. Desperately, he smoked harder and harder on the deathstick, sucking any pain relief from it at the price of another day of his goddamn life.

He did not hear it in the strict sense, but he knew he might as well have. It was a scream from the room in the hangar bay which held the containment field—close, yet faraway. Now he knew where Sing's recruits had run off to.

"Wait here, Blythe," he purred.

"We ain't leaving?" asked Blythe, sounding afraid. She sat up straight and looked away, as if embarrassed of her timidity.

"Dat's what I'm saying." Cad tried to crack a smile to make her feel better, but when it came out it didn't look anything like one.

"I want...to leave..."

"Can you give me one hour, beautiful?"

Blythe just nodded, slowly.

"Time me. One hour," he repeated.

Before Blythe could reply, she heard footsteps approaching. Cad turned around at the sound. As he did, Blythe saw a tall, feminine figure with a long ponytail appear around the bend of the outside hallway.

Cad's responsive expression was an attempted smile-turned sour grimace.

"Should've known you'd follow me here," he muttered.

"You're my client, I need to know where you're going, don't I?" the tall, pale woman replied.

Cad's grimace only deepened. He twirled his blaster in his hand exactly four times, anything to distract him from the damned headache. It didn't entirely tick him off that Sing followed him to his, well, not-so-secret hideout—it was falling apart, quite literally, anyway. Wouldn't be so difficult to just find another one someplace else on Coruscant within a week's notice.

He glanced over Aurra Sing, who already smelled like Pantoran blood.

"I see you've been busy. I need a few minutes with the Jedi," he said.

"You? What the fuck for?"

"Business. Personal. A fetish. Miscellaneous. Take your pick, whatever you want to call it."

Aurra took her time with one, long blink and a small crack of a grin, her white teeth flashing in the dark, as Blythe stared wide-eyed at the two figures whose shadows seemed to tower over her. And Cad knew Aurra knew he was downright serious. She opened her mouth and swallowed a bit of deathstick smoke before leaning towards him, closing what little distance there had been. Slowly, as if to savor the moment, she pried her tongue out from her mouth and glazed it over his lips. She felt him shudder before he gave her chin a playful tap with his index and middle fingers.

When Sing pulled back, she murmured,

"All right, Bane. You got ten minutes with the cute little bastard. If I get fifteen minutes, you and me, in _my_ apartment."

"Sorry, Slim. Just the ten." Bane gave her eyes one last brief analysis before he pulled away. Giving Blythe one departing glance, hoping it said what couldn't be said in front of Sing, he walked back down the hall until he had reached the exit door. With one blow he practically kicked the rusty thing open, returning to the dark alleys outside. His back slouched forward, his head lowered until he stared at the damp and crusty ground, and his fingers rubbing the brim of his hat as he had always done when he was about to do something he might enjoy.

* * *

><p>Aurra Sing glanced into Cad Bane's small, grungy apartment and its assembly of weaponry-coordinated contents organized in some way she didn't get. All at once, as she stepped out of the light from the hall, she noticed and recognized the Twi'lek girl wearing the mango-orange dress, grinning half to herself.<p>

The new look on Sing's face was reminiscent of a starving animal landing upon fresh, live prey where there was thought to be none.

"How's the bump?" Sing dipped her chin in the direction of Blythe's stomach.

Startled, Blythe inched back and curled her legs up.

"What? I, I don't know." Blythe did not dare raise her voice above the faintest of a whisper. Who knew what this female associate of Cad's could do to her if she back-talked?

"I know enough, sweetie." Sing coiled her fingers around the barrel of her rifle, as Blythe stared up at her wordlessly. Then Sing set the rifle against the wall and leaned back in a casual, nonchalant pose, like they were old friends.

Blythe felt her mouth go dry. Why had Cad left her like that?

"Well, let's have at it. He treat you well?" asked Sing. After a thought-cluttered pause, she added, "Bane, I mean."

"I'm not sure what—you mean..."

"It's a yes or no answer, _pateesa_. Well? Does he go easy on you and give a little freedom when he's out and about? Or is it more of an on-demand sort of deal?" Sing had to laugh at the look of growing, horror almost, on the Twi'lek girl's face. "Hey, darling, I know the drill. I used to be in the streetwalking gig myself before I scored me some luck with a blaster. Of course, what, your type aren't quite so lucky, right?" she added with a snicker.

Blythe tore her gaze away from the woman and tried to remind herself that Cad would be back in only ten minutes. In just ten minutes, they get the hell out of here. Ten minutes, he had said.

"That was a trick question, of course, about how he treats you. Because I know firsthand what kind of a motherfucker he can be. You need to get away, gal—hit the streets. At least those guys give you a tip without fucking hell outta you. Better to play a game where at least you decide which pieces you're going to play."

Finally, Blythe looked up, squeezing one hand in the other as she crossed her legs underneath her. She wished the hurting would stop—everything from her lekku to her fingertips hurt like the night on Nar Kaaga.

"Why don't you ask _him_. Sure he'd love to, hear that—from you..."

* * *

><p>The door hissed open. Cad Bane walked through to find that the last of Sing's recruits had strung up the young Pantoran in a containment field. They were now standing in front of the control panel, faces and necks dripping with sweat and speckles of their comrades' blood. Except for the hum of the containment field, the room was quiet—hauntingly quiet. A held breath before the big jolt. A pale glow surrounded the containment field, but the room was otherwise swallowed in inky darkness. And at moments like this, Cad Bane loved the darkness.<p>

At moments like this, he _thrived _in the darkness.

The five remaining recruits, who had begun to eye the control panel and all its accessories, spun around and laid eyes on the bounty hunter who stood at least a foot higher than the tallest of them. Gazes cast to the ground, and without a word, they backed up and began to shuffle away. Cad glanced over the bruised, brokenhearted faces, the remaining flickers of light dying behind each of their eyes. They were covered in filth and blood and ash.

Give them a few more rounds out in the ring, and they wouldn't see him as a fucking god anymore.

The door closed behind the last recruit, leaving Padawan and bounty hunter alone. The kid was bleeding from a nasty head wound, squirming restlessly as he was just starting to come to. He couldn't be past fourteen to fifteen years of age.

_This looks familiar, _Cad thought distantly. He had done this before. He knew what Jedi were like on the other side of the lightsaber. Though when Aurra Sing said she wanted to kill Jedi, she had better damn-well mean it.

Cad folded his arms over his chest as the Padawan's eyes peeled open, and he looked up, and froze. At first, the kid appeared to be in shock, as if convinced he were in some sort of nightmare. Slowly, and yet in the course of under one second, Cad Bane felt the lengthening eye contact grant the kid a full comprehension of who was staring back—a blue-skinned Duros, wide-brimmed hat, smoking a deathstick, blasters at each side— Mercenary...bounty hunter...killer. Murderer. _Sleemo_. And guess whose ass was stuck in a containment field.

A look of repulsion and disgust was quick to replace the shock on the Padawan's face. His small button nose twisted as his lips puckered into a grimace, as if an awful taste had filled his mouth. Hatred burned in those young Jedi eyes—mercenary, bounty hunter, killer, _killer_.

"Who the kriff are _you_? What do you want?" the Padawan snapped, his teeth and the whites of his eyes flashing, as a drop of blood trickled down his right temple. "You're a bounty hunter, aren't you?"

A pang of annoyance rang through Cad. Like he had said before, he never liked kids, especially the bratty ones. He turned to the side just enough to hit a switch on the panel. The Padawan was electrocuted for several seconds, and he yelped and writhed a bit against his restraints.

When it was over, Cad said in an authoritative tone, "You want to get out of this, you gotta brush up on your manners first."

"Look who's talking..." the kid winced in pain, as Cad made a quick calculation on his wrist gauntlet to transfer the controls from the panel.

And Cad picked up that undeniable stench again—that smell of death. And he thought of the lightsaber stabbing his side, the flamethrower roaring in front of him, the Jedi Master who taught him that the Order's claims about being better and righteous and special were all a bunch of lies.

A big, fat, fucking lie that this Pantoran Padawan must be carrying somewhere deep inside, linked to Garr Broxin. All Cad Bane had to do was dig down deep enough to draw it out.

That was something he wouldn't mind doing to a Jedi.

"You've been down here almost three hours. Nobody knows you're here except us. I imagine your master must be looking for you, or worried sick at least," Cad said calmly, as if having a conversation with an old partner over a drink. He clasped his hands behind his back and began pacing around the containment field. Just to add to the act, he was almost tempted to whistle a tune. Meanwhile, the Padawan watched him with nothing less than a growing disgust, to the point where he looked ready to vomit all over the bounty hunter's coat.

"And my master doesn't take kindly to Separatist scum like those terrorists," the kid spat.

"Is 'dat so?" By now, Cad stood almost directly behind the Padawan, who was forced to stare straight ahead and wait for the next possible eye contact, grinding his teeth. Cad arched his neck forward a bit. "So who else doesn't your master take kindly to?"

He watched another drop of blood fall on the Padawan's tunic—just a little blood.

He wanted more.

"Well...figure it out, _sleemo_."

Cad, tightening his upper lip, pressed down on the wrist gauntlet. The containment field hummed with growing energy. The Padawan gasped with pain, but refused to cry out. He choked it down, pulling at the binds around his wrists and ankles though it was futile.

"Where are those manners, you little brat? I know you have them in there somewhere," Cad Bane growled, but restrained his voice from escalating to a shout.

"S-_spare_ me. I'm more tough than you think I am, _bounty_ hunter."

Cad smiled, lips crackling.

"I _bet _you are," he said, as he reached down and pulled out his blaster, which he raised in the air until it was above his shoulder. Then, fast as a retracting bullwhip, he struck the Padawan across the face with the barrel.

The little head was snapped to the side. Blood splattered from a broken button nose. Cad struck him again, just for good measure, then dropped his blaster and held up one of his wrist gauntlets. A small pocket that released a raw, burning acid was less than half an inch from the Padawan's eyes.

"You give me respect, I'll give you respect," said the bounty hunter. A flat-out lie, of course. And Cad Bane knew it.

"Get that thing out of my face," the Padawan gasped, spitting out a bit of blood and wincing with pain. "What do you want with me, anyway? What am I supposed to know?"

"You're a Jedi, aren'tchyu? You're an apprentice. You must have a Master."

"So? What's that got to do—"

"Where's Garr Broxin?"

The Padawan hesitated, a bad move. A sharp punch to his solar plexus sucked the air out of him. Cad pointed the wrist gauntlet up at the head wound. Squirming, the kid began to thrash, as he must have known what sort of excruciating pain was being threatened.

"What—what the kriff do you mean?" he sputtered.

"Don't play that game with me, boy. Don't you _dare_ play that game with me. You would know why Broxin didn't show up at the Opera House. You might even know where he is right now. You were there for a reason, weren'tchyu? I bet you were just sent to protect your little pimping friend."

"Wh-what? I don't know what you're abou—"

"_Bantha-shit_!" This time, he had shouted.

The Padawan trembled, sweat mingling with blood down the sides of his face. His indigo eyes doubled in size with growing fear. The hatred and disgust was fading out.

Cad felt the headache pound inside him again. And yes, it was getting worse by the very second.

"Listen, Mister, I don't know who Garr Broxin is. I've never even heard the name. Now let me go. Really! I don't know anything!"

Cad paused, a smirk spreading into a wide sneer—anything to hide the white-hot pain burning behind his eyes. He raised his other blaster.

A shot echoed off the walls.

A child's scream followed. Cad snapped his fist into the burning hole in the kid's pelvis. Blood subsequently spilled all over Cad's knuckles.

"G-g-_go to hell_...!"

Cad drew his fist back, as the Padawan gnawed on his bottom lip.

"Kid, I was born and raised in hell."

He struck the kid again, shattering his jaw and knocking out two teeth.

"I d-don't _know_." Another punch to the pelvis. "I don't know!" A sharp slap against the open head wound. "_I don't know! _Dammit, oh _god_, I don't _know_!"

But Cad Bane wouldn't have it.

"You've at least heard the name once, don't you dare lie to that. Suppose you came in early to a council session and heard your Master whisper it to a friend in the corner. Maybe you heard some little Twi'lek girl mutter it in her sleep behind your Master's closet. If you don't know him, I bet an older friend of yours does. Use those Jedi memories of yours, you _know _that name."

He was kicking the burning hole in the kid's lower stomach now, slapping the head wound until blood filled the indigo eyes. And when that wasn't enough, he turned the power back on and shot the screaming, writhing figure right between the legs. Still, it was not enough.

"Now tell me, boy. Just say it! I swear on my mother's grave I'm gonna hear you say it. I'll dig for it all night if I have to, but I'll goddamn _find it_!"

Cad held out his blaster, pressed it against the Padawan's shoulder, and fired, shattering the bone so he could only half-support his weight. Then the other shoulder. As the blood-curdling scream of agony followed, Cad had to look away and ignore an inward heavy blow to his skull from the headache. Hadn't he just smoked a deathstick to chase away this pain? He could've sworn he had. And now even a regular smoke had turned on him.

Because Cad knew what that blood-curdling scream sounded like. The sound of a little boy being beaten half to death by a father drunk on more than just simple alcohol—on rage, on madness.

_"Please stop it Dad, I'll be your little man and make you proud if you let me, please stop, you're hurting mother—Stupid kid! She's dead! Can't you see that stupid..."_

Cad thought of the Ryloth slaughterhouse—the two little infants stuffed in a crate and left to die—the remains of what was less than 'property'. Waste, garbage. The smell of blood and rot and decay.

"Oh, god, I swear, I _swear_..." the kid could hardly speak. Probably trying to use the Force to numb down the terrible pain. "I _don't _know anything! Please! _Please_ stop. I don't know!"

The bounty hunter paused, then took the kid's bloody jaw in three long, bony fingers. He twisted it a bit this way and that. Then, as another wave of color was drained out of his eyes, Cad held up the wrist gauntlet to the kid's stomach wound.

"Oh, shit,_ no_, god, I swear I'm telling you the truth, please, _no_—!"

But Cad didn't listen. He hit the switch on his gauntlet, releasing the burning acid.

What followed was a long, ear-piercing shriek that doubled, then tripled the pain of the headache.

The acid's reek seeped into Cad's open mouth, as he watched the white fumes eat away at the bloody, open flesh until it was charred to a sickly-greenish black. Unable to move his arms, the Padawan let out a a hollow, painful cry as he dared look down. The veins surrounding his pelvis were beginning to turn black, inching up his stomach and down his legs to spread the poison. It would only be a matter of time before half the blood in his body would feel like a white-hot fire under his skin, twice as worse on any open wounds. The Padawan, face streaked with tears, looked up at the bounty hunter helplessly.

Cad had to take a step back. He could not help but wonder if his father had at any point in time years before, looked down and saw that exact sort of face—young, bloodied, and helpless...

"Is 'dat the truth...?" Cad murmured, his red eyes wide with adrenaline, knuckles glistening with Pantoran blood. He held his head high, staring down at that helpless face.

The kid's bottom lip began to bleed, his eyes pleading for nonexistant mercy.

"_Yes_. I don't know who Garr Broxin is, _please_, I d-dont..." He almost passed out from the pain in his stomach that was beginning to spread. Cad watched hideous, black sores begin to form where the kid's genitals used to be. Blood, bubbling from the acid, trickled down the skinny little legs.

"You don't know...'dat's the truth...?" he asked again.

Come on, it had to be a lie. All the Jedi were liars, _every _single one. How could this one not be guilty the way the Master on Nal Hutta had been?

"_Yes_, please,_ believe_ me!" the Padawan cried once more.

Cad's blood ran cold, the headache swarming. Yes—his father had probably looked down on that very same face, once.

"_Please_..."

"All right, 'den," he muttered.

The bounty hunter turned and backed away from the containment field, as the effects of the acid began to wear off. He could still make out the blood-curdling shrieks as they were absorbed into the cold concrete walls of the room. But before he had fully turned around, he stopped. His hand hovered over the control panel, and one finger flicked down.

"You might be telling the truth. But your innocence cannot save you now."

The Padawan was too weak to resist, and trembled as he coughed up blackened blood.

Only when the power was back on, did Cad turn away entirely from the sight.

He shut the door behind him, but still heard the echoing screams of the Padawan being electrocuted. The sound seemed to carry all down the hall as he backed up farther and farther. All he wanted was a deathstick—just one, to cure the headache.

He almost didn't see Aurra Sing approaching him from the other end of the hall.

Cad Bane refused to let himself realize that the Jedi Padawan could, possibly, have been just as innocent as the two Twi'lek infants, and was now paying the price for someone else's actions. He just couldn't do it.

He wanted to believe the opposite. He had to believe.

"Get anything out of the little fuck?" asked Sing.

"Go ahead. Maybe you still got some magic." Cad tried to rub his forehead with as much subtlety as was possible. "Anyway, he wouldn't sing. I s'pose those Jedi are too much of stubborn-ass mules in 'de head to—"

"Bane, listen. Something just happened."

"Huh, no shit..."

Sing looked ready to punch him or spit in his face, but for some reason she didn't.

"I'm fucking serious," she snapped at him, planting one hand on her hip. She snapped her fingers and two of her recruits appeared, ducking back into the room to take care of whatever was left of the piece of meat hanging in the containment field.

At that, Cad stopped, as Aurra Sing went on.

"Do you remember what I said when I left Nal Hutta? I was hoping Hondo Ohnaka's gang would pay me back a favor? Well, they gave me an asset to put on the Utapau system—what with the end of the war it's a place a lot of hackers want to get their hands into, and I've been making good money off stolen news on the war and such."

She paused to lower her voice.

"My asset just contacted me. He sent me a holovid transmission twenty seconds before a squad of GAR clones shot him to a pile of bloody pieces."

"And this should sound important to me, how?"

"I think you might wanna find out for yourself."

"What exactly is this transmission he sent'chyu?"

As the Padawan's screams began to die into dry, empty wails for that nonexistant mercy, Sing added,

"I think it was my asset who didn't listen to the little _warning_. You know, Bane, we didn't pay attention to it? I think the storm's arrived."

Perhaps somebody, somewhere, for some reason, had wanted them to pull off their stunt. Somebody was letting, maybe even pushing, for these things to happen and fall into place. Like their pointless endeavour was just another piece on a gameboard, another card in a sabaac hand.

Was there an audience, watching? Was there a deliberate motive behind it all?

"Follow me," said Aurra Sing.

* * *

><p>"<em>Get ready for the storm, it's coming<br>It's coming  
>There's a slap back in the face<br>For a sin you can't erase  
>And a coin drops in the box don't change the meaning<br>There's a storm and it's a-raging  
>In the belly of the slave<br>And it's coming  
>It's coming"<em>

_-Glen Hansard, "The Storm, It's Coming"_

* * *

><p><em>Author's Note:<em>

_And..."SB" has made it past the 100k word count!_

_Please review!_


	23. That Which Will Live in Infamy

_"Space Bound"_

_Chapter Twenty-Three: Which Will Live in Infamy_

* * *

><p><em>"And at the latter end of their kingdom, when the transgressors have reached their limit, a king of bold face, one who understands riddles, shall arise. His power shall be great— but not by his own power. And he shall cause fearful destruction and shall succeed in what he does, and destroy mighty men and the people who are the saints. By his cunning he shall make deceit prosper under his hand, and in his own mind he shall become great. Without warning, he shall destroy many."<em>

_-Daniel 8:23-25, the Old Testament, the Holy Bible_

* * *

><p>It was this sort of day. The day in which you remember every single detail as if by some metaphysical memory spike. How many deathsticks, cigarettes, or combinations thereof you smoked. What you were currently trying not to think about. Where everyone was and why. What song you were whistling. What the air smelled like. The exact time of day you heard the news.<p>

A day you would always remember and always wish to forget.

Even before Aurra Sing had led Cad Bane to the hangar, muttering half to him and half to herself, he had felt a chill begin to peel his skin back towards his spine. Sing's young recruits, after a long night of watching their comrades die all to no avail, were just fine with watching the Pantoran Padawan slowly electrocute to death in the containment field. The screams died to dry howls, and then to faint whimpers, and at last silence—all echoing down the hall as Cad walked behind Aurra Sing.

Even before she yanked out her datapad, and the doors to the hangar bay opened in front of them, that black sun already loomed hungrily on the horizon.

_"Not unattainable in my case, but in the case of the circumstances."_

Cad bristled when he noticed Embo was already in the hangar. His shield-hat was balanced between his knees as he crouched down on a crate, sharpening it with a silver Kyuzo dagger. Sing glanced back and subtly flicked the rim of his hat, which didn't help Cad's darkening mood.

"Relax. He gets to hear as much as you do," Sing hissed.

Embo glanced precariously at the deathstick protruding from Cad Bane's mouth. But as always, he said nothing.

Cad would remember craving a Thuris Stout all at once, as a popular pop song played on the cheap sound system from the casino next door. He leaned one shoulder against one of the airspeeders, crossed his arms, and lowered his hat until it just barely covered the top halves of his paling eyes. Embo slipped his dagger away, running a thumb along the edge of his shield-hat. Aurra Sing glanced at the two of them, as if to make sure they were both still attentive, and cleared her throat.

"My asset, on the Utapau system," Sing began, "had been hiding out for about thirty days, picking off what he could in regards to the war. It just so happens that a cyborg Separatist general going by the name of Grievous had decided to hang out on the same piece of rock. My asset was held up by the droid traffic but stayed in contact. In fact, we were both earning more profit, since black market prices via interaction with the Separatists spiked on Utapau during those thirty days."

Embo grabbed his shield-hat and stood up.

"What do you speak of? What signifiance does your little story have?" he snapped.

Sing did not miss a beat.

"A Jedi Master appears. A battle breaks out. My asset had no choice but to take cover until he could find a way off the planet."

Cad doused the deathstick and punched the bridge between his eyes again.

"So who added an extra move to the dance?" Cad chirped.

Sing held out a datapad with a low-quality, gritty holovid paused at the twelve-second mark. Cad pried his back off the airspeeder and leaned in a bit. Embo did the same.

"It's a twenty-second holovid recording, sent to me about thirty standard minutes ago," she said. "I don't know why he suddenly started making a tape. Maybe he snapped, maybe he knew what was coming. It doesn't matter now."

On the datapad's screen was a misty image of Utapau here and there—pale, suntanned rocks and a dark chasm dangling below. Battle droids and clones, or at least figures of the same resemblance, littered a visible portion of a battle-strewn docking bay. As the holovid played, a dragonmount appeared around the bend and began to approach the camera at a rapid pace. A figure was on the dragonmount, wielding a blue lightsaber—Jedi, by the looks of his or her attire.

A squad of GAR clones could be seen in the distance. They turned, obviously towards the lightsaber-wielding figure who was even closer to the camera, and...

And...

Cad's spine was snapped in two, like a twig. At least, it felt that way.

The camera ducked behind a rock and, a second later, cut to black. Then the holovid ended in a chaotic mess of screams, shouts, and firing.

"Run it again," he said to Sing.

"Five seconds later, the guy is dead." She was muttering half to herself again. "Dead. How does that happen? He gets torn to pieces just for seeing—"

_Seeing a band of clones turn on a Jedi, _Cad mentally finished.

An act of treason? Rebellion? Possibly. That wasn't new. Cad Bane had heard rumored but chilling stories of places like the Umbara campaign.

But for clones serving the GAR to defy their own Jedi leader as to _open fire _on him? What in the hell _was _that?

A black sun began to block out any remaining daylight.

Cad's vision reddened, then narrowed. He watched the same slot of twenty seconds play back again. He already knew the basics—Jedi approaches on a dragonmount, clones disappear, a cannon fires from the clones' direction, Jedi and dragonmount out. Despite such poor tape quality, his well-trained eyes detected a specific movement of the lightsaber hand, a poise of the chin, a method of controlling the reptavian Utapau creature.

_Could that be Kenobi? _He wondered. Apparently, Cad still hadn't forgotten everything he had researched on specific members of the Jedi Council in preparation for Separatist hirings, plus the real-life encounters, of course. It could be so—old Master Kenobi himself, full-time negotiator with a hobby of dressing up as his own killer.

Cad still got a tingle at the memory of betrayal and humiliation. How the Republican guards had dragged him off Naboo beating him with electrostaffs, how the Jedi had practically spat in his face as if _he _had been the traitor, how those guards had been convinced they could make him sorry. Their punishment, they had had it coming. But Kenobi.

Had he deserved to be shot down by his own clones?

A third time, Cad Bane watched the holovid. It was unmistakable. Embo said in his own langauge that he doubted it held much evidence. At that, Cad just smirked and began gnawing on a toothpick he drew from his coat pocket.

_"Not unattainable in my case, but in the case of the circumstances."_

Circumstances...

"Did we pay attention?" Sing snapped, and threw the datapad to the floor. "Why did they take him down like that? I'm losing creds by the minute at this rate. Not to mention the guy was borrowing one of my own ships. Fucking Sarlaacs. Who needs a drink as much as I do?"

Embo had sat back down and cupped his chin in one hand, but he silently nodded in agreement. His yellow eyes drifted to the frozen image of barely visible clones firing on an unseen cameraman.

"I need a drink," Cad confessed, although it was a half-truth.

"That's a little bit of the old Bane back," Sing said, as the three began walking across the hangar bay to the casino just around the bend. Then Cad wondered aloud,

"Well. Why wouldn't they take him down?"

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"We knew it was gonna happen. We just pretended not to. You get it? You don't kill a bystander for being at the wrong place at the wrong time. You kill him for having a story to tell."

"And what's there to tell? 'A band of clones decides to turn on their commander'? I highly doubt if it's a first in the grand scheme of things," Sing said coldly. She cracked open the casino door. Cheap, bass-saturated music and a sickly-green smoke wafted from inside.

"To tell?" Embo piped up. That got both Aurra Sing and Cad Bane's attention fast. Embo looked at the two of them. "To tell, that clones always follow orders. It's as simple as water is wet and a star burns. Clones don't disobey orders right when the last Separatists leader has been outnumbered on an Outer Rim system. That was no random act. That was an order from someone who ranks far higher than a Jedi General."

A dark, ambient beat began in the casino. Drunken souls decayed in mouthfuls of the liquor and slot machines. Scantily-clad girls crammed in the corners clung to a darkly-dressed human fiddling for change to give to his customers. But it all seemed silent to the three.

"I hope you're wrong, Embo," murmured Sing.

But Cad Bane knew he was right.

* * *

><p>On Felucia, a turquoise-skinned Twi'lek Jedi crumbles dead at the feet of the masked men she has commanded the entire war...on Mygeeto, the sound of one's own clones clicking their rifles as they surround their leader penetrates the thick, falling snow...on Utapau, a fallen commander, ally, and friend becomes a fugitive from his own soldiers...on Cato Neimoidia, a starfighter crashes and explodes as a male Kel Dor is burned alive by the men he would die to protect...and on Coruscant, where the body of a fallen Jedi Master electrocuted to death has been crushed on the city floor, an invasion to end all invasions commences, as a legion of clones known as the Five-Hundred-and-First ascends the flight of steps into the Jedi Temple, marching into a final battle.<p>

A shadow—a fallen shadow—leads them at the front. The last of daylight is sucked out of the skies behind them. The nightfall has begun.

The galaxy shall watch as a world is set on fire.

* * *

><p>Cad Bane would remember skipping out on his Thuris Stout on that day and ordering a cheap beer instead. He remembered that the beer had a very distinctive Florrum bend to it but definitely had its Corellian roots, and afterwards a hard metal taste had lingered on his tongue. He remembered he smoked exactly one deathstick and three regular cigarettes, in that particular order as well. He could remember also that there was a dry bloodstain in the shape of a sqaushed X at his spot on the counter, and that three tables away a Skrilling in a pewter-gray vest was discussing the topic of the Corellian Trading Route with anyone who would listen to him.<p>

He would still vividly recall the faint rings of the headache, the direction his fingers circled around the sqaushed X, at the same moment a male Rodian burst into the bleak, dimly-lit casino floor, and announced the news.

"Jedi...!" the Rodian shouted at the group gathered.

Folks both in the drinking and gambling sectors perked their heads up. Cad Bane could tell pretty quickly that some were curious, some shocked, and a few terrified.

"What about? Is one outside?" someone shouted back, one of the curious ones.

"Dying!" cried the Rodian.

More heads turned up at that. Almost everyone minus the unconscious drunkards in the far back or the young pretty girls encircling their owners. But at that moment, everything seemed to, simply, stop. The choice of word had been so simple, so pure, and so ridiculously misguiding, it was enough to make the Rodian's one-word addition to the announcement make matters brutally crystal clear.

"_All _dying!"

Cad would remember the ensuing verbal symphony. The scoffs of disregard. The shouts of unnerving alarm. The demands for an explanation. Embo's motion of one hand rising to scratch the newly sharpened edge of his shield-hat, while the other respectfully lowered to hover over the top of the bowcaster dangling at his side. Aurra Sing's smack of her lips as her eyes glazed over the dirt and blood crisscrossing the Rodian's knees and elbows. The hologram image of the Commerce Guild Stock Exchange on the opposite wall.

Jedi dying.

It made no sense at all.

Cad would remember how his hands picked up that subtle twitching agin, only this time it did not fade out as before, but persisted into the long hours. He would remember thinking back to the first lightsaber he laid eyes on, back when he was still new to the bounty hunter's trade and came across a broken one deep in the bowels of Pablo's Pawn Shop on Nal Hutta. Then, the smell of dust particles and disinfectant inside the ventilation shafts of the Jedi Temple, his old techno-service droid by his side, his blood racing as he knew fighting a Jedi in his own house was a no-contest. The eternal-like days of being locked in stun cuffs with two Jedi Masters on either side of him, the subsequent kicking and slapping and electrocuting. The high-pitched Pantoran wail for mercy. Marble floor of the Galaxies Opera House banquet hall under his feet. Sexen Corrino spitting blood in his face. Blythe's water on his tongue. Her sweat between his fingers. The ice dagger that for a second or two had convinced him he was about to die.

Under the raging fire, the pieces began to melt into one.

Why do the Jedi die? someone in the casino asked. The number of repsonses throughout the room was countless, and dragged on as the minutes piled up. Even then, Cad Bane could not help but inwardly chuckle at the extreme levels of stupidity some creatures seem to be born with.

"Rebellion," most agreed on, the male Rodian messenger included. "The Jedi tried to overthrow the Senate. Now that the war's over, they want absolute power. I bet they tried to kill some group of Senators or Representatives."

"No, the Jedi were really working for the Separatists all along!" others said.

"You got it all wrong. The Jedi were actually Sith the whole time. That makes much more sense, if I do say so myself."

More reports flooded in from other creatures with scraped knees and elbows. Some were laughing until their ribs were deep-fried, claiming they had seen clones march into the Temple and fire on the guards, "and could you imagine the looks on their faces when those clones were shooting at them? 'What the fuck is this'?" they cackled. A few were shaking from head to foot as if they had seen a score of ghosts. Others, however, were smart enough to point up at the Commerce Guild Stock Exchange. Soon everyone was doing the same, regardless of laughing or shaking. Cad would remember when he looked up as well. So did Sing and Embo.

"What the hell is happening out there?" Sing muttered.

Embo stared silently, but the flashes of color in his amber eyes said plenty.

But Cad just smiled at his own stupidity, that only now had been revealed to him.

He, along with the rest of the crowd, stared up at the hologram image of the Commerce Guild stocks. On the black market corner, which took up plenty of space, the gambles were shown as to which specific Jedi Knights or Masters would survive designated periods—a form of betting that had spiked in popularity when the Clone Wars began.

He got another chill. The numbers were not only dropping. They were flying all over the place. Falling by the millisecond, one by one, at a speed he never would have imagined seeing outside of some bad dream.

The casino roared in a repulsive blend of horror, fright, scoffing disbelief, and panicked squeals. Continuing demands for an explanation, sprinting for the exit—happy hour past, dog days over, night falling.

A leaked sector of the HoloNet pulled up a holovid to show footage of the level's stock exchange. It only played for five minutes or so; five seconds would have been enough. Datapads flying. Broken noses gushing liquid. Inaudible shouts and screams, bodies crushed under the rushing crowds, laughable conspiracy theory after conspiracy theory. Surely it was only a bad dream.

All Jedi dying. It made no sense at all.

But it was better that way. All Jedi die for no reason—it sounded better than all Jedi dying for a reason.

_Stupid_.

For some dark purpose Cad Bane couldn't grasp, his top employer on Coruscant had ripped him off his Corrino kills because _this _was coming. A warning to back off from what his employer had known would be a chaotic and bloody slaughter nobody else would understand. An affair such as this they would have been shot through if they entered. A madness so unstoppable that anyone who had not backed up at the first sign of "I'm paying you less", who hadn't taken the hint that this guy knew something else was coming and couldn't risk his guns-for-hire getting mixed up in such an affair, ran the high risk of being shot down by a squad of clones for stepping too close.

That was what happened to Sing's asset on Utapau. He didn't heed the warning. He didn't back away. He didn't stay out of what wasn't his business and got the plug for it.

Cad envisioned an alternate scenario. He saw himself earning his payment for the dead Jedi Master, without any warnings or rip-off of his reward. Then perhaps the Jedi Apprentice comes along. Cad Bane would want the cash for another kill, no doubt.

Instead, the _rebelling _clones see his motion as a threat to their own orders, and shoot him down along with the Jedi. The worst part was it finally was beginning to make sense.

To stay away. That had been the warning.

_All Jedi must perish. Play your own card of intelligence and back away for a few months or so—I'll even pay you cheap so you will actually _want _to back off. Otherwise you run a high risk of dying with them. And we do not want that, now do we? I might need you in the future, and I am well-aware you will need me. We apologize if this inconviences you in any way._

All along, somebody had been watching, and preparing. And now Cad Bane realized he had really been no more than a professional player's sabaac card, his pawn, another piece in his game. An old, otherwordly sound churned deep inside him.

_Helpless._

This is what it feels like to be used, to be part of an act, to be expendable to the next man higher up. It was the sense of an impending force, of a nightmare transforming into reality. Of the last of his consciousness crying for it to stop only to be met with that force, that reality, that you are helpless.

Cad could not shake the feeling away. It lingered on long into the dimmest hours. Even as he, later on, stood alone in a dank room so cold he could see his breath, a Padawan corpse hanging in the containment field in front of him, a headache burning his thoughts to ash. And outside, there was chaos, but a different kind of chaos. It was the chaos, he had never created, and he hated that part of it. A chaos not your own was your gravedigger.

_What is happening out there?_

But the answer was simple.

Jedi dying. All Jedi dying.

* * *

><p>On Coruscant's upper level, the Jedi Temple burns.<p>

A place once a safe haven and protection has become a bloodbath. Clone regiments pour into the sacred halls, firing on sight. Jedi Masters, in horror but with undying courage, draw their lightsabers for what they know will be the last time. Immortal statues crumble to pieces. Younglings cleave clones in half and their bodies are mutiliated by the laser bolts long after they draw their final breath. Smoke rises from the steeples. The skyline glows with fire as a confused and terrified audience watches. A thousand millenia wiped out in one night. A lifelong trust shattered in one split second.

In the Council Chambers, the most mysterious and hallowed place visible to the outsiders of the Order, a small human youngling stands up from his group, facing the dark figure that has entered.

"Master Skywalker. There're too many of them. What are we going to do?"

Only a shadow, a fallen shadow, stares back—a creature consumed by the darkness and knowing nothing but rage—before the snap is heard of an ignited lightsaber.

* * *

><p>Blythe jumped when she heard the door hiss open. She had to shake herself out of another bad dream full of ghosts and their voices and fingers, wiping the mess of tears and sweat from her face onto the yellowed pillowcase.<p>

"Bane Cad?" she piped up.

The fading twilight and the blood-orange kiss it streaked across the wall made the approaching figure appear to glow. A cold, but quick snicker was her only answer. Then,

"Naw, sweetheart. It's just me."

Blythe cast her gaze down, twisting the bed sheets into knots. Trying to swallow, she fixed her eyes on Cad Bane's spare blaster, his belt and its connected utilities, and a small packet containing toxic pills that could kill in under twenty seconds. All three rested on the side table. In a way, they summarized him quite well—at least, some image she used to know.

"What doth ail thee, child?"

It was the mocking giggle that followed which gave Blythe a cold chill.

"Where is he?" Blythe asked in a hoarse whisper.

"With Embo—he's another bounty hunter. Or, getting drunk. Or bailing his creds out of the Commerce Guild stocks, though I doubt he was ever into stocks or betting on Jedi. Who knows where he is."

Blythe had a feeling Aurra Sing did know, but that was not what she said.

"What?"

"Sweetie. He's the last one you should be worrying about. Don't you have a kid of your own to take care of?"

Blythe didn't know whether to nod or shake her head, and thus ended up doing something in-between.

"Sure. But. My baby isn't..."

"It doesn't matter, right? Bane's the father. He doesn't let you have an abortion. What I don't understand is, why. Does he like you better that way or something?"

"_Why_?" Blythe stifled a sniffle. A quiet tear ran down her cheek, as the fading light turned Aurra Sing's pale complexion to a dark, bleeding mango. A haunting silence filled the place—and not just there. Not too far away, a cold room harboring a containment field was also possessed by a lack of sound—an individual staring at the combination of cigarette smoke and his visible breath wafting in front of him, a blue glow making his red eyes glisten wildly.

"Y'know," Blythe said slowly, "Miss, he let me once. Said I could try. Well. Gave me a chance to get it done. No. I think I, seen too many...dead kids."

"Sure. Whatever that means, darling."

No, Blythe didn't think this bounty hunter woman would know about Garr Broxin's collection of black buildings on Ryloth. She didn't look like the type who would know about such a thing.

Aurra Sing looked up. Miles from their location on the border of the lower levels, she saw the final ray of sunlight hitting almost perfectly on the steeples of the Jedi Temple. She did not know that they were mere minutes away from a sight that would have stopped her heart.

"Then why, sweetheart? Is it because you like the idea of him?" she asked.

"Sometimes I think—" and Blythe refused to shed another tear for tonight. "—he keeps me alive. Going, you know."

"Well, well," Sing chuckled. "In that case, I'll be sure to go easy on him if he ever happens to rub off on me the wrong way. Wouldn't want you blacking out just because my boys roughhoused him a little too far, right?" She paused, staring up again, then back down. "Tell Mr. Bane I said good luck. I'll be out for the night." Sing refused to give even a parting smile. "See you around, _pateesa_."

The door shut resolutely.

Blythe turned and looked out to the Temple in the distance, as it began to burn.

And so, nightfall began.

* * *

><p>"<em>Someday I'll wish upon a star<br>And wake up where the clouds are far behind me  
>Where troubles melt like lemon drops<br>Away above the chimney tops  
>That's where you'll find me"<em>

_-Judy Garland, "Somewhere Over the Rainbow"_


	24. All the World

_Author's Note:_

_The italicized quotations are from Palpatine/Sidious' speech given to the Senate following the attack on the Jedi Temple. They are not my own, but taken from Wookieepedia. I used the actual version, over the ROTS novelization or film versions._

* * *

><p><em>"Space Bound"<em>

_Chapter Twenty-Four: All the World's a Stage_

* * *

><p><em>"All the world's a stage,<em>  
><em>And all the men and women merely players;<em>  
><em>They have their exits and their entrances,<em>  
><em>And one man in his time plays many parts"<em>

_-William Shakespeare, "As You Like It"_

* * *

><p>No more light on Coruscant. No light at all.<p>

But that's the funny part, isn't it? For even at that very moment, the HoloNet was talking of peace.

The HoloNet tells us that the Jedi who we thought were once so pure and mighty and trustworthy and honorable, have done the unthinkable. They have attempted to assassinate the Chancellor of the Republic and take control over the Galactic Senate. They have turned on our beloved leader in quest for their own power. We should have seen this coming. We should have sensed the reek of deception within that sacred Temple before it was too late. But now the Chancellor will step forward to reassure us of his safety and willpower, of his determination to extinguish the Jedi threat regardless of the cost, and repeat over and over a promise for a safer, healthier, and better future for all citizens under his hand.

_"__The Jedi, and some within our own Senate, had conspired to create the shadow of Separatism using one of their own as the enemy's leader. They had hoped to grind the Republic into ruin. But the hatred in their hearts could not be hidden forever. At last, there came a day when our enemies showed their true natures...But the aims of would-be tyrants were valiantly opposed by those without elitist, dangerous powers. Our loyal clone troopers contained the insurrection within the Jedi Temple and quelled uprisings on a thousand worlds."_

Never had the Commerce Guild stocks plummeted so steep in one night. We watched, literally, as the money was snatched out of the people's hands. Screams of protest ensuing.

__Get your money out of there!__ they shouted at each other. Blasters and bowcaster were readied at their sides in the event that a fight broke out in the casino, and laser bolts and chairs and limbs started flying.__Do you have anything in the stocks? Do you have anything invested in the CIS? The Commerce Guild? Get it ___out___!__

_ The Republic is destroying them _by the minute!

__"The remaining Jedi will be hunted down and defeated. Any collaborators will suffer the same fate."__

What the HoloNet didn't say was that, in one night, billions of credits were going to be blown into the air. That the Confederacy of Independent Systems was about to finally crumble to dust. And, perhaps, that we should have smelled the deception not just from the Jedi. For did not the well-dressed senators with their fingers crossed behind their backs, carry the same stench as well? Did it not also reek of treachery when, as the crowd celebrated and screamed for the new promise of safety, security, justice, and peace, blood and massacre filled the streets miles away?

How could the outsider looking in not see it all along?

We, in a way, knew.

We knew what the Jedi do when they are not posing with their glow-sticks. We see the Senators stuff Corellian cuisine and Alderaanian wine up their asses, and then talk of ending poverty on the Duro and Tattooine systems. We watch Garr Broxin boast of his whiskey addiction and subsequently receive praise for his honesty about his personal weaknesses and life story. We hear him tell us he loves a little green girl named Tee and assume she is like a daughter to him.

But, we were never heard, and now we never shall be heard. The crowd's screams drown out all else. They are too happy to accept the truth. They are drunk on the spur of the moment.

__"The war is over. The Separatists have been defeated, and the Jedi rebellion has been foiled. We stand on the threshold of a new beginning. In order to ensure our security and continuing stability, the Republic will be reorganized into the first Galactic Empire, for a safe and secure society, which I assure you will last for ten thousand years."__

Oh, your most worthy Highness. You were behind the HoloNet all along, were you not? And now you have done it. You, in accusing the sword-wielding warriors of taking over the Senate, have taken over the galaxy. You, in beginning the violence, have staged the peace. You managed to turn a potential riot into a cheering crowd, all with the power of words.

Congratulations. You will be loved dearly by almost all. Happy Empire Day.

__ "We have been tested, but we have emerged stronger. We move forward as one people: the Imperial citizens of the first Galactic Empire. We will prevail. Ten thousand years of peace begins today."__

* * *

><p>"Bane," said Embo.<p>

Yes, he had seen it on the HoloNet. Who hadn't? Everyone had watched the Chancellor—correction, the _Emperor—_give that wonderful little speech.

"I'm listening," he muttered, although it wasn't entirely true.

Embo, reluctantly, slipped into the vacant seat next to Cad Bane's. He tore his gaze off the hologram displayed on the back wall of the casino.

"Rumors," the Kyuzo said gruffly, breaking the ice in his throat. "That's all. That's all they have. Just the rumors. A few concerns here and there over what we can do next. What we can do at all." He let loose a string of obscenities in his own language, some of which forced Cad to stifle a hollow chuckle. "Nevertheless, it will be a long night. Just like the night before."

"I intend to make mine a little shorter."

"What about the Padawan?" asked Embo, as Cad Bane rose and kicked back his stool.

"Find the last of your team and clear it up Speaking for myself, I'm gone." Cad paused for a split second in case Embo had a reply, which he didn't. Then, he began to turn around and back away. There was no point in hanging around just to hear over and over again what he already knew.

Besides. Blythe was still out there. Waiting for him.

"The Kyuzo's warrior code, Rule the Fourth," Embo suddenly blurted out.

Cad, both startled and confused, spun back towards Embo, balancing one palm against the counter. Embo, meanwhile, stared down at his hands folded in front of him, as if studying or examining them.

"It appears I made a mistake back on Nar Kaaga, Bane. I owe you a favor."

"What?" Cad snapped.

"The attempted but failed kill on Nar Kaaga, if you recall—thus, I owe you one. Rule the Fourth."

"I don't _need _a favor from you."

"And I don't like your hat." Embo glanced away from the commotion building up outside the casino on the streets of Happyface, of which's name was becoming increasingly ironic, it seemed. "One favor by the code," Embo added. "It's held in our belief that the scale should always be balanced between two men, whether they are in opposition or equality. No side can have more than the other. Disorder leads to demise."

It was the longest period of time Cad had heard Embo speak at all. He cocked a nonexistant eyebrow and flashed a smirk, as if out of indifference or disapproval.

"In other words, since you didn't kill me, now you're going to be the hero?"

"It's not about herosim. It's about balance. You have something to hold against me. I cannot have that. You understand this?" Embo, for the first time that night, returned the eye contact with Cad Bane. It remained that way for several moments, Cad not knowing how to respond at first.

"Fine," he finally said. "I'll keep 'dat in mind. So long, Embo."

Embo replied in his own language, a phrase Cad could not translate too well, but it was along the lines of an exchange between the closest of brothers—something like a mixture of "May the gods protect you, my friend" and "Kiss my ass, you no-good bastard."

Cad turned away into the Coruscant street, which was crammed between a series of family-owned brothels and the black market stock exchange, littered with bloody bodies trampled to death and creatures of various shapes and size and color, a street filled with the stench of fresh decay and lost credits.

And, in the distance, he could see a faint red glow rising in the form of smoke from the direction of the Jedi temple.

But at least it meant these outsiders were not the only ones burning.

* * *

><p>It was mere minutes after the woman named Aurra Sing had left. On the endtable was a handheld holoprojector left by the woman, now going invisible with the rising dark. On it was a single unread message.<p>

Meanwhile, outside, Blythe heard a crowd beginning to scream in unison. Run like animals. Cower like small children. Scatter like rats. Republican security sirens wailed above the noise, sounding as if they were on the verge of tears. Blythe stared at the holoprojector, tempted to hug her knees and crawl somewhere where she would feel safer. But even she knew a 'safer' place no longer existed.

She heard a few exchanges of heated debate from the end of the hall. It was one of the young boys or girls under Aurra Sing's care, as well as another speaking in a Huttese tongue. Something moderately heavy dropped to the floor. Blythe flinched. A body. Quick shuffling followed, as if in a hurry.

After a moment of hesitation, Blythe grabbed the holoprojector. Whatever reason the tall woman had left it, the message was no doubt intended for Cad Bane, and Blythe knew she had to see that he got it. She pulled on the nearest cloak, which belonged to an owner now deceased merely hours ago.

"All traffic around the Jedi Temple has been cut off," Republican security announced above the crowd. "Please vacate the area at once, and no harm shall come to you."

Blythe looked out. She saw smoke. The city district above Happyface was glowing with fire. A cold chill made her tremble from head to foot.

"Oh, fuck, _fuck_," she whispered. But she did not cry.

She wished Bane Cad were here.

Squeezing the comlink in her fist, Blythe stood up, knees knocking against each other. Slowly she backed away from the window until she was through the open doorway. Her footsteps echoed down the empty hall. Leaning against a doorway was the corpse of one of Sing's young recruits, shot twice through the head.

That kid ain't even ten years younger than you.

No. Don't think about it, Blythe. Don't look down at him. Just keep walking.

She continued to back up. Her eyes were wide. Her palms and forehead were cold with perspiration. She stepped over one unmoving leg, then the other, but her heel stumbled over the palm of an open, cold hand.

"He's not coming back," Blythe said aloud. Her voice was scarcely audible above the mob and the wailing sirens. "Wouldn't be coming back. Nuttin' here. Not coming here. He'll be at the cargo ship, with the fast hand. We gotta go there. We should go, just, go."

She flinched again, as she heard laser bolts fire into the crowd, killing a row of civilians. Maybe a woman or a child. Screaming followed, of pain and horror and sudden grief.

A billboard depicting the latest speech from the Chancellor of the Republic played, unheard, above all the noise littering the streets of Happyface: __"The New Order of peace has triumphed over the shadowy secrecy of shameful magicians. The direction of our course is clear. I will lead the Empire to glories beyond imagining."__

The second row of blasts hit the window in front of her, clipping off a chunk of the wall. At that, Blythe turned and ran. Within a second of running, she was short of breath and could hardly let air in through her throat. But she didn't stop.

Once she was outside, surrounding her was an assembly chaos. Smoke spilled onto the streets, blocking out the neon pulse signs and streetlights. Republican security, hovering over, was firing round after round, trying to drive the maddening crowd away. Far above, Blythe saw, for the second time that night, the shape of a familiar building—the Jedi Temple—and the red glow rising from it.

"Everything is under control. You must leave the area at once!" security shouted.

The hangar, Blythe remembered—the hangar had the cargo ship with the fast hand. That was where Bane Cad would be, not here. She looked up, trying to remember which direction to go. She had to find it, fast. Maybe he didn't have the time to find her, or was in danger himself. It had to be her.

Shit, we're no good at directions...!

Suddenly, she was shoved roughly from the side, as a male Skrilling raced past her. Blythe gasped, trying to breathe. Then, before she could recover, she was shoved again, from behind.

A handful of civilians fell to the ground, shot by the security—three of them children. A woman was running around, screaming like she were mad, beating her chest, tears flowing down her face, and a few moments later she was shot as well. The bodies were trampled as the crowd dissected into smaller groups, scurrying in all directions below the security airspeeders. A crashing noise sounded—stone crumbling to pieces from the Temple.

It was then that Blythe's lower abdomen tightened with a sharp, jabbing pain. A pain she had heard the other girls on Ryloth talk about and try to describe, but she had never experienced it for herself. But surely this couldn't be that same thing...

"Gotta make it," she told herself. "Gotta get to...we can do it. No way he gunna have comin' get us."

She had to find it; it had to be _her_, dammit.

The pain tightened again. Blythe gasped and cried aloud, wishing for the first time that she did not know why she was hurting.

And as the crowd scattered around her, and she coughed violently, Blythe sank to the hard, bloodstained ground. Her arms wrapped over her womb, wishing to ease the painful stabs. Her legs began to shake. She gasped in agony.

"No. _No_, please, no. It's too soon..."

That was when the world went completely black.

* * *

><p>Embo tossed the Pantoran Padawan corpse over his head and into the incinerator at the back of the alley. The scrawny Weequay mercenary behind Embo cursed under his breath.<p>

"Hurry. Security will be along," he grumbled.

"Spare me. I'm well-aware." Embo backed up from the incinerator and quickly checked his comlink. When he did, he let out a deep hiss in frustration. "_Shit_. I have no contact."

"What's happened?"

"Security has cut off all communication lines in the district. Seeing how we're close to the Jedi Temple, I would assume the same is occurring in the surrounding districts as well." Embo flipped off his comlink. "Come on, then. We have to move." Even as he said it, they could hear the alarms wailing a distance off, but nevertheless approaching.

Embo took in a sharp inhale of the toxic, thick air of the alleyway, along with its perpetual stench of hyperdrive fuel and every sort of bodily liquid or waste from seemingly every other species. The dusk was long over, and the only light was from the faint glow of fire from the Temple. At his side, Embo's radar signal on his bowcaster vibrated. Although it was a signal for approaching trouble, he was relieved to find it had not been compromised by the power cutdown.

In a flash, he snatched it up and held it against his shoulder, muscles automatically tensed.

"They'll be searching for the body," Embo murmured.

"Yeah, that's what we get for kidnapping a Jedi—"

Embo shushed him. Suddenly, an intense blue-ish light beam flashed above their heads. Up in front, they heard the familiar voice of clone troopers.

"Hey! You two! Back away! Put your hands up where we can see them!"

Embo did not move. He had been aware disposing of the Padawan would be risky, but not lethal. However, now, as he looked up at the clone silhouettes, he fully understood their predictions of when interference with a Jedi was considered an act against the Republic—correction, the _Empire_.

"I said put your hands up!" At the front of the alley, four clones appeared. The light beam dropped down and bore into the alley. Embo's amber eyes surveyed them carefully. Each clone's stance suggested a different obstacle in combat. The one flashing the light on them would need to be taken down first. The one slightly leaning to the side was most likely armed with a blaster cannon. The clones spoke up again, as Embo grabbed his shield-hat.

"_Put your hands up! _This is your last warning, or we will open—"

Embo wielded his hat into the air. Spinning like a sideways saw-blade, it struck the lead clone in the neck, slicing his head clean off. Instantly the light beam shut down, and the alley was pitch black again. Using the darkness as cover, Embo sprinted toward the clones. He pulled out a pair of twin daggers from his sides. The Weequay behind him opened fire, but missed. The clones, in return, fired into the shadows.

By then, it was too late. Embo dove, rolled to the ground, and rose to kick the second clone in a rising crescent.

"What the—" The third clone was cut off by a sharp kick to the pelvis and a subsequent blow to the neck, which dropped him to the ground like a rag doll.

Embo swung around to face the remaining clone. So he wouldn't fire his blaster cannon, Embo threw one of his daggers at the clone's head as a distraction. As the clone ducked out of the way, firing blindly, the Kyuzo leaped forward and yanked out his bowcaster.

He had to plug one and only one. The clone let out a small cry before collasping. A hole was straight through his forehead.

Embo landed at the front of the alley, balancing his drop by pressing the tips of two fingers into the ground. When he had recovered, he stood up and glanced back at the Weequay, and said curtly,

"Thank you for your assistance."

"I missed the part where you asked for it." The Weequay growled and swung his rifle over his shoulder. "Well, let's move before anymore come this way."

Embo didn't like it when someone who wasn't the boss pretended to be one. All well. This Weequay would sooner or later prove to be expendable.

They traveled on down the narrow street, avoiding where it was obvious the crowds and Republican—correction, _Imperial_—security had collected. Once they had covered a hundred meters or so on foot, Embo pulled out his comlink again. Luckily, it had detected a signal from outside the district. Weak, but enough. He activated it and almost had to shout into the comlink to be heard.

"Bane, come in. Come in. We disposed the body and are ready to leave Coruscant."

Bane did not seem to hear the question, or care about it.

_"Is Sing wit'chyu?"_

Embo paused.

"No. I have no idea where she is."

_"I was hoping you wouldn't say that. Looks like we're both stuck in the same state of affairs."_

"We can't leave without her, unless neither of us want the late advance payment from her employers. Do you have a plan?"

_"I'm heading back to my own ship. My own plan is to lay low until things cool down to some degree 'round here."_

"Bane..." Embo hesitated and looked up at the glowing night sky. "Have you heard the news? That the Jedi Order was really working for—"

_"I don't care about no Jedi rumors."_

"So you have heard it, then."

_"What's it worth to you?" _ Bane sounded out of breath, and perhaps exhausted as well.

Then Embo remembered something Aurra Sing had told him earlier that day in the casino.

"Sing told me she had a message sent to you, Bane. What was it?"

He could practically hear Bane spread his lips in a wide sneer.

_"I suggest leaving this neighborhood as fast as the next ship will take you. It's going to be a long several nights on Coruscant."_

"Speak for yourself. Although, do keep me updated on little Ms. Sing."

_"Can do," _Bane seemed to say, but the signal was lost before his words seemed to arrive.

Embo could not care less about the Weequay next to him—whoever hired him as part of the job, it was either Sing or Bane, not him. He turned, ran, and disappeared into the shadows. Wondering if Coruscant, and perhaps the entire galaxy, had seen its last daylight.

* * *

><p>Cad Bane found his little red girl on the ground. She was surrounded by lifeless bodies tossed around without thought and lying in pools of shit and blood and rubble. She was lucky she had not been trampled by the crowd, which by then had all but disappeared into the deep alleys and tunnels across the district. All she could do was wail uncontrollably, voice rattling and choked by dry tears, like that of a child left to die. When he saw her, he stopped. His hands fell from his holsters self-consciously, and he froze.<p>

He did not know what to feel—relief, anger, terror, or disgust? Or something else? But, anyway, it was better not to feel anything. Not to feel, and not to think.

When Cad bent down to her, she slapped his hand away with an animal-like cry. He kicked away a piece of rubble and reached for her again. Again, she slapped him.

"Would you stop that, Blythe?" he hissed.

Blythe was staring straight ahead, as if she could not see him. But she hesitated at the sound of his voice. Some level of sanity seemed to come back to her then.

"Bane Cad?"

"'Dat's right. Who else would it be?" Cad waved his hand in front of her eyes, but she didn't respond at all. "Blythe?"

"I can't see a thing." In the distance, he could still hear the billowing roars from the Temple. "I can't—I can't see nothing. Things, they just kinda went black on me there."

_Oh, Force, no, _Cad thought.

"Cad, I think he's dying."

"Who? Speak up, Blythe, I can't hear you."

"Help me, Cad. I think he's dying."

And then he understood.

It was the day in which you remember every single detail as if by some metaphysical memory spike.

Cad would not remember when he lifted and carried a blinded, bleeding Blythe to _Sleight of Hand _back in the hangar bay. The period of time was somehow later erased from his memory, like a dream you knew you had but couldn't quite recall enough to describe it.

However, he would always remember the sensation of her thick, dark blood soaking his coat, her fingers digging into his neck until her nails punctured his skin, her wails dying to whimpers behind her tightened mouth. He would remember stepping over eleven bodies exactly, shot by security in the panic, but he could not recall caring about them. Cad would remember Blythe's unending cries. Every time her throat contracted and she stopped only to cough up blood, he thought of her as the little red girl again, crying as she was taken away from him and dragged by tall, dark figures to the platform.

He remembered the moment he laid her down in the small bunk inside _Hand_, and looked down at a body that seemed to be falling apart, quite literally.

_The diseases, _he thought. _The diseases are taking over._

Blythe's nose had stopped bleeding, but her entire dress below the waist was dark with black blood, and he knew there was too much of it. Perspiration of an odd color beaded her chest. Her lower lip was bobbing up and down.

Well, he should have known this was coming.

"Can you save him, Cad. _Please_..." she sobbed bitterly.

How he wished he had left her at the medical facility—or even with Ihtak. Maybe they would have only treated her as property. At least they could have fixed _this_. Saved their unborn child before...

_No. _It had been too late from the beginning.

Ihtak would have deemed her unrepairable, as well as any other doctor with some remnant or trace of sensibility would. According to the medical journals, wasn't Blythe already dead?

Dead waiting to die.

There was only one thing he could still do for her. Cad tore off his bloodsatined coat, sat down on what space was left in the bunk, and lowered Blythe's head into his lap. He took her hand in his, which she squeezed to fight back the pain, her nails stabbing his callouses. Then, with his free hand, he began to gently stroke her womb. Not to feel, and not to think. Little by little, he felt her begin to relax as the hours dragged on.

All night long, he didn't think about it. Just, didn't think about it.

"You're all right, Blythe," he said tiredly, kissing her damp forehead. "I gotchyu."

* * *

><p><em>"Don't you dare look out your window, darling<em>  
><em>Everything's on fire<em>  
><em>The war outside our door keeps raging on...<em>

_Just close your eyes_  
><em>The sun is going down<em>  
><em>You'll be all right<em>  
><em>No one can hurt you now<em>  
><em>Come morning light<em>  
><em>You and I'll be safe and sound"<em>

_-Taylor Swift ft. The Civil Wars, "Safe and Sound"_


	25. One More Dance Routine

_"Space Bound"_

_Chapter Twenty-Five: One More Dance_

* * *

><p><em>"I've seen the horror<br>I've seen the wonders  
>Happening just in front of my eyes<br>Will I ever, will I never free myself by making it right?_

_I'd give my heart, I'd give my soul  
>I'd turn it back, it's my fault<br>Your destiny is forlorn  
>Have to live till it's undone"<em>

_-Within Temptation, "Jilian (I'd Give My Heart)"_

* * *

><p>Dried blood caked Blythe's dress and the insides of her legs. Her complexion had begun to turn to that strange purple hue again, and it did not go away. The rhythm of her breathing was shaky, unstable, like her heart missed beats and half-beats without pattern. All Cad could do was inject a pain-killing drug through a needle into her arm, and hope that everything would be all right. That the last pieces of her could hold together until it was safe to leave Coruscant.<p>

Cad, who had spent over an hour scrubbing the dark, sticky mess off his coat, glanced over at her every two to three minutes. Gray, dim rays of light began to stream in, illuminating the stale particles of dust floating around the cockpit. He cradled a blaster in one hand, pleased to feel the accumulated layer of scratches and general wear around its trigger, as he straightened his back against the wall behind him.

"Bane Cad..." asked Blythe. "What if it's a boy?"

He stroked one thumb below her eye to wipe away a tear. Blythe's left thigh twitched, and she winced, only to cough again. Then he shot another dose of the drug up her arm, and her muscles relaxed a bit against his.

"A boy," he echoed halfheartedly. A scrawny, silvertongued boy with Twi'lek skin and Duros eyes, little fingers glazing over his daddy's prized rifle collection. "I'll give him a stun blaster to practice with until he can handle a bit more juice."

"What if it's a girl?"

What if. What if. That was all Blythe could goddamn care about when one wrong move would kill her instantly? When any doctor or medic would either be unwilling to help her or was too busy tending to the neighborhood casualties? _Why_, should be the question.

_Why didn't I get rid of the kid before—_

How could he do it. How could he let this kid slowly kill Blythe from the inside out, a kid who would be watching his every move? Who would he or she decide to be more like?

And, considering Blythe's condition, how long would he, or she, live at all?

Probably not long.

"If it's a girl," he said, trying to picture such a small creature cradled up and fast asleep in _Xanadu Blood's _cockpit, "'den I'll buy her a pretty dress and teach her all the dance moves."

Blythe choked back a sob, unable to look him in the eye any longer, and turned her head away.

_Dammit._ The smell of blood was bringing, of all things, the old headache back again. He lit a deathstick to ease off the new soprano-level shriek that had begun behind his eyes. With a bit of caution so not to cause her any unnecessary pain, he backed away from the bedside and stood up straight.

At that moment, there was a loud buzz from _Hand's _exit door, short but ear-piercing in its abrupt startle. Blythe's breaths quickened and her eyes widened, as she did not know who it was. It could be Garr Broxin himself, for all she knew.

Cad Bane just rolled the deathstick to the side of his mouth with his tongue, before strolling over to the hatch and flicking the switch.

_About time she showed up, _he thought, but he did not dare say it aloud. After his tidbit conversation with Embo the previous night, Cad had taken the responsibility of contacting Sing to request a face-to-face meeting. Even without Embo's help, he would have done it anyway—at least, after watching the message Sing left for him on the holoprojector he found on Blythe.

When the door hissed open, Cad Bane immediately reached for his blaster.

"Howdy."

"Howdy yourself," he replied, staring into the barrel of Aurra Sing's sniper rifle aimed for the space between his eyes. "Kinda funny how you're the one who ends up pointing guns around, don'tchyu 'tink?"

"I like to come prepared." Sing stretched her neck to the side to peer around his shoulder into _Hand_. "You alone?"

"You would call it that. Alone enough."

She snapped her rifle back, then slung it over her shoulder, twirling some sort of caramel-flavored hard candy around in her mouth. As Cad Bane caressed his left breathing tube, he made a gesture to the outside of the hangar. With a crack of a smile he recognized all too well, Sing stepped off _Sleight of Hand's _docking ramp. He restrained an urge to glance back at Blythe before shutting the door and leading Sing out the hangar, to a narrow and desolated city street. Even hours later, smoke continued to rise from the Jedi Temple. From the credit exchance across the street, he noticed Commerce Guild numbers were still dropping, digit by digit. It was technically daylight, but the pulse signs and holograms of strip-teasing Zeltrons were the strongest source of light, as they always had been.

All at once, Sing spun around.

"Dammit to hell, Sing," he said. "What made you bail like that last night?"

"What, did you have a bad dream?" she cooed. The fact that she was actually half right did not help matters. "How did you know I would show up?"

"I got your message, in case that slipped your mind."

"Best news I've heard all week."

Cad crossed his arms, one hand still hovering dangerously close to his holster.

"Why the bail, Slim?" he asked again.

"Questions, questions. That's all we seem to want from each other nowadays. Makes you miss the good times." She hesitated to glance up and down the street, precaution briefly coloring her irises a deep red. "If you must know, my employers didn't take kindly to our failed assassination attempt. I _had _to bail...if only for a little while. I needed to go underground until it was safe to resurface again."

"You should've picked a less obvious place," he said.

He thought of Blythe, alone and numb from the pain-killing drugs. His remaining options as to what to do with her had narrowed down quite a bit overnight.

Aurra Sing's smirk spread into a ravenous grin as she arched towards him.

"Maybe I wanted to see you one last time."

"I disagree," Cad replied, just before Sing leaned towards him and grazed her salty, wet upper lip over his mouth. Their lower lips touched briefly and, as if playing with him, she stuck out her tongue and licked the space of his half-open mouth, lettting him suck in her warm taste. He felt her breasts begin to press against his chest, and he let out a sound that came from the back of his throat. Old memories were revived—an older day when they were both wild enough to hitch a ride together without worrying about who was in the saddle. An older day that died with a whisper but was marked with its first death toll at the start of the Clone Wars, fading away by the half-life, like the words of a song being slowly forgotten. And now, it was just another one of those things that was sometimes fun to think about.

"C'mon, Bane. It's gonna be a cold night. Let's put all this behind us for a couple hours. Like the good times, huh?"

But that's all it was. Just another thing. His mouth tingled at her familiar taste, but the old spice had been lost

She felt his muscles harden at her touch, and she took a step back.

"What?" she asked, gaze darkening. "What's the matter? Are you too tied down to that little pregnant girl these days—"

"Maybe I don't care anymore."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

A surge ran through his blood. What could possibly be on Sing's mind at the moment? Did she not even care? Didn't she remember the message she sent mere hours ago?

"I'm not here for you. Even without the advance reward, I could get by. I wouldn't need your lousy employers, whoever they are." Then, after a quick pause, he added, "You know why I'm still on Coruscant, don'tchyu?"

"Hasty, are we. Fine. Fast works for me." She backed up until he was not too close to grab her neck, or her his. "Like I was saying, my employers weren't happy and I had to dodge a bit of punishment. But I think—I think last night threw everyone off a little. Do you agree with that?"

"You saying the plan's changed?"

"No. No. Broxin is somewhere. We just need to find him, of course. As far as I'm concerned, we're still in business." Then, as if to compensate for her obvious statement, Sing added, "I'd be careful, though. Now that he knows about it, he might try to use something or someone as bait. He'll try to lure us in. I'd keep my eyes open if I were you."

"That's the brilliant plan you had for me?" he snarled. "What about Embo and the others? Have you heard from them?"

"They scattered, too. Sorry if that's a problem."

Cad paused to glance back behind Sing. An idea came to him, an idea he could only hope was an actuality. But it could be. And it fit the rest of the pieces of a puzzle that had fallen apart when he learned a repulsive truth from a Jedi Master on Nal Hutta.

"The last of the Corrino brothers are here on Coruscant, aren't they?" he asked. "That's what you meant in 'de message."

"It's just rumors. You can't trust the rumors."

"They're at the Jedi Temple right now."

Sing leaned back, propping one foot against a crate to get comfortable.

_Storytime,_ he thought.

"The Jedi Order is gone," Sing said. "Over. Done with. Part of the past. _That's _what happened last night and the night before. Who knows why this happened, you know how wonderful the HoloNet is. But the Jedi Temple?"

As Cad Bane locked his knees, Sing went on. "It's not so sacred now."

"Soldiers will be guarding it as they clean the place out. Whole battalions could be there for all we know. You think..."

He stopped as Sing swished her head from side to side, her ponytail flying behind her like a tail in the wind.

"I heard it's not that simple. Here. I show you." She flicked on a hologram of the Jedi Temple in its current state. "That place is full of goods. A _lot _of goods. I'm talking about lightsabers of all shapes and sizes and customizations, Jedi holobooks, Jedi Credits, pieces of ancient statues, footage, records, not to mention anything underground—Jedi and Sith holocrons and vaults no one has set foot in for centuries."

"And everybody with half a brain is thinking they can breach through security and get to all the Jedi loot."

"Bingo."

"And that's where the last Corrino brother is."

She flicked the hologram off, her eyes wide and round.

"I said it's just rumors. There used to be nine brothers, and now, thanks to the war and the family's involvement, only one is left. _Rumored _that he's been on Coruscant. I don't know about the Temple, though. I've been hearing stories about how it's just a big bloodbath. They don't want anyone going in there."

"Well...'dat's a risk I'm gonna take. Only one left, and all the credits I need. How could I refuse." He was already backing up towards the hangar. "One more dead Corrino to cut off and get rid of those damned Boltrunians. Why should I turn down my last chance?"

"And what makes you think I told you the truth?"

"Because I know your dance moves. And my head ain't in the sand as much as you'd like it to be." He smirked and parted his lips in something that just barely passed as a sneer. "If you were lying, you'd try to talk me out of it."

Sing grinned wildly for an exact split second.

"We're still not finished yet."

"Sorry to disappoint you, Slim. But we're done." Cad took another step back, still ready to draw his blaster at a moment's notice.

So that was why she hired him to kill Broxin in the staged protest. That was why she was still singing to him when she had no profit in it.

It was all just a game, after all. A long round of Sabaac.

Once he was gone, it was all Aurra Sing could do to whisper, "Keep your eyes open," under her breath. Then she turned away.

With a hiss, Cad tossed away the deathstick. Several paces later, he glanced behind him just in time to see Aurra Sing hop into a waved-down airspeeder. For a second or two he considered the possibility of Sing setting him up for an ambush so she could collect Broxin's bounty on his head. It was likely. It's not as if she wouldn't dare.

But, no. If that had been her plan from the start, she would have done so already. Between her employers and Broxin, she had made her choice.

Then again, she could always change her mind. And that sounded dangerous.

No matter. He loved everything about dangerous.

Even so, he felt a shudder cross his shoulders as he opened _Hand's _door and walked back in, as the faint whiff of smoke snuck through the air filters and into his mouth. It was tainted with the smell of impending, avoidable danger, awaiting under five fallen towers and millenia-old walls now little more than dust.

Sometimes, during a hiring, he had to dive in with little knowledge of just what was waiting underneath—or last-minute research and weapons modification were done during the way down. Maybe he knew a few things about dealing with Boltrunians and getting into the Jedi Temple.

But death. That was all that lay in there. Nothing but death.

What was he asking for?

He could almost hear his old techno-service droid Todo 360 muttering in reply, _"Well, if you say so, there is no chance I'll be able to change your mind. As if you ever listen to my opinion, anyway,"_ and he cracked a small smile at the expendable memory.

Cad Bane unlocked the weapons compartment in _Sleight of Hand_. Behind the hatch was a display of various explosives, rifles, and customized blasters, organized according to how many times they had proved useful to him, some more than others. He let his usual double blasters remain in his holsters, but he looped a string of several thermal detonators over one shoulder. Then he fastened a grapple launcher to one wrist gauntlet.

What was Blythe going to say, he wondered, when she realized he was going to have to leave her yet again?

On cue, Blythe tried sitting up, as Cad snapped his wrist gauntlet shut, and pulled out both blasters to set them on the table next to him. He took a glance over the old punctures and scars on his other arm, which had almost completely healed from the fight on Nal Hutta, but were still visible under the right angle of light.

When Blythe spoke, her voice penetrated the silence like a hot knife.

"I'm not okay. Are I, Cad?"

He didn't answer. He snatched up an oily rag and wiped it over the barrel of one blaster, scrubbing at a hard spot until it shone again. Then he set it down, reached back into the compartment, and pulled out another blaster—a simple, mere replacement that had not been used yet.

"I gonna die, right?"

At that, he turned around and leaned down in a half-sitting position next to her, holding up the blaster while bending back his hat. The outside hangar was far too quiet to be serene, a certain sign that a place once energized with incoming and outgoing traffic was now just a dead spot in a desolate neighborhood.

"If anybody else should show up," he said slowly, "I don't care if you have to shoot one time or twenty times, but no one is getting inside. Take this blaster off 'stun'."

"How do I do that?"

"Here, I'll show you."

When he had finished, he pressed the blaster in Blythe's open palm until she had wrapped her fingers around it. Then he pulled his hand away.

"I'm gonna die, right?" she repeated.

Cad stopped. He glanced down at the floor—dried, dark blood filled in the cracks. The toe of his boot gave a twitch.

The blank expression on her face was unreadable. Was it asking for the truth, or a promise he might or might not be able to keep?

"I'm doing what I can," he said. "Still one more piece of work I haven't finished yet. Then we can get out of the limelight."

"And run away?"

"I don't like to call it 'dat." He stood up, knees crackling as he did so. "If you can stay here and wait a spell."

"You're always leaving me." Blythe bit her lower lip, and let out a small sob that broke something hard and calloused inside him, and it stung. "I just...I hate it when you leave me. I hate it. Hate it. I mean, I don't. I don't wanna die alone."

Before Cad could say something back, she went on.

"Cad? Remember that night in Happyface? When I danced? I was gonna do it the next day. Swore it. I was...gonna jump in front of an airspeeder and—and kill myself."

"_Mesh-la_."

She kept going.

"I swore it. I really wanted to. I really was going to. Just wanted to die. Just be done with it. Lots of other girls did it, or tried to do it, so why couldn't I try. Maybe I still want to, die I mean."

Cad paused as he pulled on his coat, which was still damp. It was ice-cold as well, and stuck to his skin like suction. He gave a shiver.

"Can you hold on for me one more time, Blythe?" he asked in a low purr, his back to her.

"I _hate_ it when you leave me. I can't...I can't be alone like that. Not like—"

"_Hey_. Blythe. Listen." This time, he did look her right in the eye. "This is the last time. After this, no more leaving you behind. You got 'dat?"

"And then we'll run away?"

Fine. If that was going to be her terminology, he could live with that.

"Something like running away," he answered.

Away from Coruscant. Away from what remained of the CIS and the mob families. Away from everything, for a little while, at least.

She choked on another sob, but stopped to nod her head. She cradled the spare blaster close to the bedside, casting her gaze down.

"Tell me the baby's gonna be all right," she said.

He sighed as he looked down at her—sick, plagued, and like a light slowly fading witht the sunset.

"The baby's gonna be all right," he lied.

* * *

><p>Cad Bane never thought he would be doing this.<p>

But he now found himself looking up at the sublevel hangar of the Jedi Temple, a thermal detonator in one hand and his comlink in the other. From inside, one could still see rising smoke. Not even twenty yards away, he had seen the first Jedi corpse. It was a Padawan, Togrutan, plugged with burn marks. Three or four clones had been lying nearby, cleaved in half with missing limbs.

It was uncanny, in a way. As a bounty hunter, one had to gird his loins for many threats that sooner or later would arrive. Such as the most dangerous and notorious mob leaders to negotiate new terms with, or fellow mercenaries who were as deadly and occasionally even deadlier, security and weapons one had never dealt with before, environments and atmospheres and hideouts one had to adapt to in a matter of seconds if part of the plan was to survive.

But never something like this.

He gazed up with some mixture of repulsion and awe churning inside him. Even a bounty hunter knew the level of sacredness held about the Temple. He knew it had stood for millenia, its inhabitants calling themselves "the guardians of peace and justice", a sense of a bit of order in a galaxy that did not know the definition of 'order', and a knighthood meant to stand for eternity. Like the falling sun, or the urban lights, or men like Orett Solarin and Garr Broxin, they would always be there.

Things like this, just weren't supposed to happen.

He glanced down at the small hologram resting in his palm. It contained a map of the Temple, an easy piece of information to access via the black market HoloNet systems. Unfortunately, because of the district's security lockdown, the hologram was short of any data regarding system leaks or secret passageways, not even an outline of the air vents he had once used as part of a theft hiring. In other words, he would be virtually alone.

But he could compensate. He was used to compensating.

Far-off sirens still wailed above Coruscant's upper level traffic.

And he thought of Blythe. He thought of the dead Padawan who testified innocence to the last breath. The possibility that those two could not have been all that different, and in another life, they may have been the same.

Only death lay in there.

Death.

Then, around the bend, he heard a sound approaching. The clinking armor and distinctive male human voices could only mean that they were clone troopers.

Before they could spot him, Cad lifted the thermal detonator over and behind his head. He tossed it down to a lower sublevel hangar, then ducked behind a stack of cargo crates. As he pulled out a blaster, he began to mentally count down the seconds.

An explosion sounded, rattling the floor. The subsequent shouts from the surprised but uninjured clones echoed throughout the hangar.

"Who goes there?" one snapped.

"Skip, Muck, go check it out," another barked. "Bull, you stay on the patrol."

Cad watched from his hiding place as three clones descended to investigate the nonexistant scene, while one trooper stayed behind. A handful of seconds dragged by, as he was still mentally counting.

Then, holding his breath, Cad slinked out from behind the crates. Before he could aim properly, the trooper—Bull—spotted him.

"Halt! Drop your weapon!" But Bull was only able to fire one shot before he was hit twice in the chest with a laser bolt. With a grunt, he fired again, but his body hit the ground before he could make another sound.

Cad ran to where the dead trooper lay, hastening his pace with every step before the other clones would return. Bending down next to the body, he pried the blaster rifle out of the armored hands. Then he took the extra ammunition on the trooper's belt, just in case. As he stuck his own blaster back, he raised the rifle to his shoulder. The weapon felt awkward and clumsy, as he was not used to Republican guns, but he had no choice. The trooper's armor was too damaged from the blast to use as a disguise, and searching for a different one would take up too much time.

Thus, the best method of protection was to put away his own weapon. Hopefully, if any other clones heard their own rifle go off with no evident reply, they would be far less likely to come and investigate the scene.

To finish off, Cad took a couple grenades off the trooper. Enough time had already been spent there. He rose up with his new weapon and began a light sprint through the sublevel hangar, the dead Temple looming above like a dark shroud. In the back of his mind, despite his erasing all distracting thoughts and precautions, he could not help but wonder—what would he find inside?

Because, of course, it was not just the Corrino brother he was after. No—that would be foolish. There was something else. He just needed a good reason for it. So what was that other reason?

As if on cue, the comlink on his wrist gauntlet beeped.

_"Good luck," _a familiar voice said. It was Aurra Sing.

But he didn't answer.

* * *

><p><em>"Whatever happened to Christmas - bells in the streets were ringing<em>  
><em>Whatever happened to the singing - the songs we used to know<em>  
><em>Whatever happened to this Christmas, and when did it disappear from view<em>  
><em>Where was I, and whatever happened to you<em>  
><em>Whatever happened to Christmas and you?"<em>

_-Frank Sinatra, "Whatever Happened to Christmas"_

* * *

><p><em>Author's Note:<em>

_ Hope you're all enjoying the story so far. There are only seven chapters left to go, so we're at the beginning of the end now. If you have not left a review yet, please do!_

_ Since it's the holiday season, here's a little present—expect the next chapter _one _week from now instead of two! Merry Christmas, you guys._

_ And also, did anybody catch the reference to another television series in this chapter? (Hint: I've written a song-fic for it.)_


	26. World On Fire

_"Space Bound"_

_Chapter Twenty-Six: World On Fire_

* * *

><p>"<em>Merry Christmas, you suckers, you bleary eyed lot<em>_  
><em>_You'll never get rid of that headache you've got..._

_But stick to it, suckers, go swallow a pill  
>for this is the season of peace and good will<br>While we patiently wait for that nuclear blast  
>Merry Christmas, you suckers - i<em>_t may be your last"_

_-Paddy Roberts, "Merry Christmas, You Suckers"_

* * *

><p>There are some sights, or sounds, or smells, in life that are all but impossible to forget.<p>

You never forget the sound of your first kill screaming in agony, nor the thud as his body falls to the ground. You never forget the first creature of the opposite gender with which you spent a long night of painful, rapid, and terrifying fucking. You never forget the first time your face was sprayed with your partner's blood and gray matter. You never forget the minute you lost any ounce of respect you had for who you thought was someone pure and nobile. You never forget what dozens of rotting corpses smells like on a hot day under an unmerciful sun.

This was one of those things.

The sublevel hangar was eerily empty, although the earlier presence of clone troopers was unmistakable. A few Jedi younglings had attempted to escape through here, and what was left of their bodies after hand grenades had taken care of them, was collected in a pile that Cad Bane walked past without blinking. At the moment, however, the place was deserted. The space where ships were normally stored was replaced by stacks and stacks of crates, tossed about at random and vaguely labeled. He didn't have time to give thought to what might be inside. Even if some of the contents were important or useful, it would take too long to sort through so many crates.

Before he was barely two-thirds through the hangar, he heard the sound of more clones coming, as he had been expecting. Cad Bane ducked between two narrow aisles of crates, tucking the Republican blaster rifle under one arm and balancing the barrel on his knee, as the squadron marched past. He heard muttering between them, muffled by the helmets.

"Bull isn't responding," one grunted. "Neither is Skip."

"You think Nix's squad met some resistance along the way?" another asked their commander.

"Only one way to find out. Let's move."

Under a minute later, they were around the bend.

He stood up and continued his way.

The entrance to the inside of the Temple was blocked by a blast door, which led to a winding corridor. Beyond that was a winding staircase, narrow and almost concealed completely in the darkness, since the lights had been shut down. Something triggered his memory, and he remembered the last time he was here. Before the clones would be coming back, he quickly began ascending the steps as he looked into the hologram map once again.

From the level above, a series of shots rang out, echoing down the long corridor, followed by a short-lived scream. He got a bit of a chill. Just a bit.

As he took the first set of rising steps, a wave of dizziness seemed to swim out of nowhere. He pinned his arm against the wall to brace himself, and paused to catch a quick breath. A few black spots did a little tango in front of him.

_What was up with that?_

As if in reply, another round of shots sounded upstairs.

Well, of course. He couldn't even recall the last time he had felt actual hunger, much less eaten any real food at all. He wanted a deathstick. Right now. Just one.

That was when he began to taste it in the air again. That old, all too familiar, smell of death.

At last, he reached the top of the stairway after what had seemed like an hour-long trek. His hands shook as he fumbled for a thermal detonator in case he would need it. One of his knees threatened to buckle. The black spots were gone, but not the dizziness. Cad wondered how much weight he had really lost in these past couple months, as if he had needed the physical change in the first place. Was the whole blame to be pinned on the deathsticks, and consequently the headache?

But only briefly. He did not give much thought to it one bit.

For, by now, the smell was overwhelming—a black shroud hanging over the Temple—and he almost didn't want to ascend the final step to see what had come upon this once-hallowed place. But he had come this far, and so there was no choice left.

There are some sights, sounds, or smells impossible to forget.

Before Cad Bane had even arrived at the top step, the front hall of the Jedi Temple, or what was left of it, sprawled out before him.

All had fallen silent. The tall bronzium pillars, statues of legendary Jedi Masters, had crumbled to scattered pieces. Faint sunlight streamed through, shedding rays down on the maroon carpet floor. He made it to the top step. The faroff gunfire had ceased yet its echoes still rang down the giant hall. Smoke trickled up from small patches of flames along the walls and sitting in piles of ash. There was only silence. A beautiful silence flooding over a graveyard.

Cad stepped forward, his red eyes slowly surveying the scene. His initial response was to look around for the safest but nearest exit way, which would hopefully lead to further clues as to where he would find the remaining Corrino brother. He began to take precautious steps across, wary of possible mines set by the clones.

It was a graveyard. Clones, rifles nearby. A few rogues, Weequays and Rodians and even a few Boltrunians he knew were Dio's—dead, finally. Massacred as they ran for the Temple loot. But he saw at least twice as many of the blackened, robed figures—of any sort of species from human to Pantoran—men, women, and younglings—riddled with black burns from the standard blaster rifle. They were Jedi. The hall reeked with the stench of dead, dead Jedi.

He walked on, passing one of the fallen pillars, which had crushed a clone and two Jedi younglings. Bodies had been tossed around and some thrown into piles. Some were already starting to show signs of bloating, obviously the earliest kills. Blood stained the gorgeous pattern carpet, coloring its glistening golden swirls black. Lightsabers separated from their owners were scattered everywhere. Jedi Temple guards, too, had not been spared in the massacre, and lay crumbled and tangled in their dark robes. So far away he could not decypher in which direction it came from, gunfire picked up again. A disguise would be helpful, and reasurring, but any clone armor was too damaged to pass off as belonging to a live one. Unless he was willing to take on a live clone and kill him in some other fashion, which he was not, it would be safer to not wander around looking like a badly-wounded clone who lost his squadron.

Cad would never admit it to anyone, but his hollow stomach was becoming nauseated by that smell, that stench. He paused to glance down at a Jedi Master and Apprentice, side by side. One had tried to protect the other in the heat of battle. Now both were turning to a color never seen on a living being of their species.

_What the hell happened here? _He wondered.

How does an Order that stood for millenia vanish in the course of one night? It was like putting every credit he had earned during his lifetime on a gambling table, and losing it all. It just—didn't—make—sense.

Good thing he hadn't come here for answers.

A dismembered arm of a clone lay in Cad's path, and he kicked it aside with the toe of his boot on top of a pile of dead younglings—whom, he noticed at second glance, had not been killed by a standard blaster. Not even a grenade or a falling pillar.

He looked again. The burning gashes across their chests and necks could only mean—lightsaber.

Lightsaber?

Several seconds later, as he pulled out his hologram again, Cad found himself taking a small step back. A group of seven to eight younglings had been slashed to death by either a lightsaber or a weapon that was closely related to one. He paused a moment, almost shutting his eyes to reenact the scene in front of him—_clones closing in, Jedi of all ranks surrounded, fire raging, bodies burning, more battalions storming through, the younglings screaming and the Masters shouting final orders to hold the line..._until it made sense.

Perhaps those Masters would have rather killed their own Padawans than sacrifice them to a surrounding army that would inevitably slaughter all of them anyway.

It sounded un-Jedi like, thought Cad Bane.

After all, the only alternative was that a Sith Lord himself had led the attack on the Temple.

It did not take him long to decide that the latter possibility was the worser of the two.

* * *

><p>Blythe opened her eyes, all at once aware of the sticky sensation below her legs. She tried sitting up to pick away at the dried blood, but her abdomen tightened as she did. Moaning in pain, she lay back down. To distract herself, she decided to stick the tip of the barrel of Cad Bane's spare blaster in her mouth, and nibble on it to find some taste. Without hesitation, she jammed it against her upper lip.<p>

The metallic flavor was definitely present, with a blend of something else she could not pinpoint. She lifted her finger off the trigger as she began to nibble harder, and harder.

It's the last time, Blythe. He said it's the last time he's going to leave us.

Then everything will be all right.

She jumped when there was a loud sound outside, most likely a blast door opening and closing. On accident, she bit down on the barrel so hard, it would leave a toothmark.

Footsteps were coming closer—slow, but firm.

A flood of relief felt like cool water on her dry tongue and parched throat. He was back. Cad was back.

But she hesitated, as the footsteps drew closer, and realized something could not be right. How could he have come back so early? He couldn't have, could he?

She slipped the blaster out of her mouth and chewed on her lower lip.

Is that you?

She recognized the voice outside, but it was not the one she was expecting. There was a crash of impact against the locked door to _Sleight of Hand_.

No, this was the last voice she thought she would have heard again.

Blythe wrapped her finger around the trigger.

* * *

><p>A hundred yards or so from behind him, Cad Bane heard clone troopers shouting at each other just prior to blasters piercing the silence. He dropped to his knees and lowered his head to hide behind one of the fallen bronzium statues. The teeth-shattering sound echoed off the looming walls and sent a hot shiver down his back.<p>

"Make your way to sublevel hangar Twelve-B-Forty-one. There has been a reported resistance down there and the squad hasn't reported in."

"Sir, yes, sir!"

Cad squeezed the Republican rifle until the sound of running troopers had faded around the bend. Only when he was over eighty-percent certain it was safe to come out did he stand up again. It had been twice as easy to go down.

At the end of the hall, he saw a passageway uncannily clear and wide open. He opened the hologram, zeroed in on the front hall, and discovered it lead to the central security station. At least three dead Boltrunians lay a few feet from the passageway, yet no corpses were visible beyond them, as if whoever had been traveling through survived a distance.

The central security station would be full of security data and files—obviously, supplies a Corrino could not ignore.

It was a fairly safe gamble that he would be headed there. If Cad Bane's predictions were off, at least the station would be a decent place to collect enough information that would lead him back on the right path. The presence of clones may be high, but hopefully, the rogues who had gotten there first had taken care of it. It was a risk he had to take.

He turned around only to lay eyes on yet another dead Jedi, lying face-down with his weapon hand tucked in. His cloak was burned, face disfigured, Togrutan lekku mangled and torn. This one, too, had been slain with a lightsaber—stabbed through the stomach and hacked across the back.

The idea of Masters giving their Padawans a mercy killing further diminished as Cad closed up the hologram. He deeply craved a deathstick.

Not here for answers, he remembered. Not here for answers.

Yet, the strong possibiliy that a Sith Lord had been here did not help his dizzinesss.

He wobbled a bit as he stood up straight. It was going to be a long day in the Jedi Temple.

Keeping his senses peeled for anymore clones, Cad walked on through the passageway, passing countless corpses. The sight of so many dead from all sides—clones, Jedi, and the rogues—brought to mind the unfortunate souls who were going to have to clean up the mess before long. He smiled a bit to himself at the thought. Thanks to all the petty criminals marching in with the intention of taking many of these Jedi delights for themselves, the workload had been doubled, to say the least.

And how many delights there were to steal. There were pieces from the bronzium statues that would sell well on the black market to be melted down. There were exquisite artifacts preserved for centuries, belongings of famous Jedi Knights and Masters, security chips that could lead to further information on some of the tougher official buildings to hack into. Who knew what the Jedi libraries held with their thousands of holobooks, or the communication center. If Cad hadn't understood the meaning of the word 'hallowed' before, he did now. Despite the bodies and ashes and rubble strewn everywhere—to walk down the wide, looming halls bursting with color from the multicolored windows, to see thousands of years put into the surrounding architecture, to enter the Temple in such a way he never would have imagined himself doing before, and to do so alone and for the most part in utter silence—brought a sense of awe, sacredness, and wonder to this mysterious, deathly place.

For a few minutes, at least. It wore off quickly.

Because he knew the truth. That to be _hallowed_ was to be worshipped for something that did not exist. That to be _sacred_ was to pretend something was perfect, when even the pursuit of perfection was futile. And girls like Blythe, or Blythe herself, may very well have been smuggled into a private quarters in this temple and drugged until all they could do was giggle about it. Some of them may have died here. There was no telling. It could have been these halls in which a much-younger Blythe finally snapped and stopped caring if people touched her anymore.

Even if such was not the case, did it change any of the stark facts? Would it bring back any of the invisible little lives destroyed here? Would it undo the carnage now plainly spread about the main halls and divine chambers?

No, it did not. It could not. It never would.

The sacredness was a mask. And only now did the true smell of death that had existed here for years become so unavoidable, it was making him sick.

As the passageway dropped down to the central security station below, the headache sent off a series of explosions behind his eyes, pain like that of a hundred hot needles being driven into his skull with a hammer. Although his stomach was empty, a bit of bile jumped to the back of his throat. To bite back the agony—god, the fucking agony. Just end already and be done with it.

The blast doors hissed open. When he stepped into the room, it was almost in a stagger as the headache swelled. The blaster rifle seemed to gain fifty pounds in his arms, and it took twice as much effort to keep holding it up.

The hall of the central security station was cold and dank, like the frozen bowels of a cargo ship. Four pieces that once made up two clones littered the floor. A blue glow rose from the holo-files stored in the aisles of recorded and recieved messages, adding a low-key buzzing hum to what would have been complete silence. The headache pounded. It rose in full symphony to a level it had never reached before. If only Jedi smoked deathsticks. Or, _used _to smoke deathsticks.

Strange enough, it was as if the whole Temple had fallen silent. No more gunfire in the distance, or clones or rogues shouting or screaming. Somehow a spell had been cast down, and he had missed it. Darkness swept across the station. With the headache, the blue light from the aisles was changing colors every second, or so it seemed.

So were they blue after all, or red, or green? Or white? Or black? Because, strictly speaking, the last two were not colors. Now they were blue again.

Cad took two more steps forward, slowly making his way through the main division of the station, eyes peeled for any sign of a Boltrunian's past or present intrusion. As he had learned with Gasta Corrino back in Happyface, a lone Boltrunian was a dead one, but having partners alongside him meant a deadly game for their opponent.

One of his legs suddenly went stiff, like a board, and he had to drag it along.

The lights were beginning to change color again. Damn it all.

The dizziness had faded out, for good riddance, but its absence did not seem to help matters much. The blue—or green, or black—glows doubled in size, and then shrunk eight times smaller, only to whiten like the train in Happyface, blinding. Luckily, when he blinked, shut his eyes, and shook his head, they returned to normal. He kept going. Inching closer.

Steady. He balanced a hand against the wall, gripping the rifle in the other. Breathe, keep going.

Without a doubt, somebody had already been here; otherwise those clones wouldn't have been cut to pieces. Anyone could easily have stolen a dead Jedi's lightsaber and decided to use it for themselves, so fresh lightsaber kills should be expected.

And then he stopped.

_Wait._

It was not that somebody had already been here, but that someone was _still_ here.

He could smell it.

His hand, which had been pressed to the wall, dropped to his side. He let his gaze fall to the floor.

Behind him, about fifteen feet's distance, Cad Bane heard the familiar startling hiss of an ignition, and the subsequent lethal hum.

Slowly, Cad turned his head to the side just enough to see. His heart almost stopped.

"Bane. Is that you?" he heard a human voice blurt out, sprinkled with a sharp Corellian accent.

_Oh, I know that voice._

It was either apprehension, or the mere startle, that put a tremble in the bounty hunter's voice when he spoke.

"Hello, Kenobi."


	27. You'd Come For Her

_"Space Bound"_

_Chapter Twenty-Seven: You'd Come For Her_

* * *

><p>"<em>And my thoughts fly apart<em>_  
><em>_Can this man be believed__  
><em>_Shall his crimes be forgiven__  
><em>_Shall his crimes be reprieved"_

_-Les Miserables, "Javert's Suicide"_

* * *

><p>As if on cue, a new chorus of shots rang above. A cacophonous blend of human, Weequay, and half-animal screams pierced the cold, dank air. Clones shouting. Running. Firing. Killing.<p>

The Duros bounty hunter spun around and yanked out the blaster rifle. The human Jedi Master who faced him pointed the ignited lightsaber out until it was parallel to his outstretched arm, but he didn't take one step back.

"Jedi." Cad Bane repeated the word. He enjoyed the seething poison it left on his tongue. How exhilarating it was to hear that lightsaber's hum again, and smell the plasma heat so close by. This is what he had come for. This was it.

_ Kenobi_. Jedi Master, Obi-Wan Kenobi. The last time the bounty hunter had crossed paths with this certain Jedi, he had been embarrasingly outwitted and outdone by the double-agent, and left to the torture and humiliation the Republican guards had been more than willing to provide. It was also Kenobi who almost broke him with the Jedi mind trick. In fact, when he thought about it, Kenobi had always been there in the past to cause him more than his fair share of trouble on several hirings, not to mention his former apprentice as well.

Shit, if it wasn't for this Jedi, he would've had no need to hide in Happyface in the first place. That would have saved him a _lot _of trouble, indeed.

"Put down the weapon, Bane."

Bane smirked, aiming the rifle for the Jedi's heart, even though he didn't feel like shooting at the moment. He twisted one ankle out as he readjusted his fingers below the barrel.

"T'anks, but no."

"You don't want to test my negotiating side, do you? You remember how that worked out last time."

The bounty hunter dug the toe of his boot into the floor as he frowned. He glared coldly at the man across the room, whose face was tinted with a hint of blue from his lightsaber. However, it was not the face Bane remembered from those years before—not the witty twitch of the mustache, the fantastic gleam in the eyes, and the subtle hardening of the jaw seconds prior to the fight. His face, it had changed. It was dirty, even unkempt, unusual for a fellow such as Obi-Wan Kenobi. His eyes, too, were not the same.

"Maybe. Maybe I just don't give a—" the headache symphony swelled, doubling on the percussion and scratchy strings. The Duros grinded his teeth, as his blood begged for a deathstick.

"Back away, right now." Kenobi hesitated. "I am certain you won't be the last scum and villainy I shall be forced to deal with today."

"So you admit I'm the first," he managed to chuckle.

When he didn't move, Kenobi swung his lightsaber a bit closer, forcing Bane to bite down on the recollection of what such a weapon felt like underneath skin and muscle.

"Put down the weapon. Right _now_, bounty hunter."

"I didn't come for you, Jedi."

"I couldn't care less what you came here for, but you're going to stand down."

The bounty hunter then noticed the accumulated filth on the Jedi's clothes and robe, and the faint streaks of exhaustion forming dark bags under his eyes. A hundred images flashed in his mind—questions. He ran the numbers through his head again, but nothing came out that made sense—Jedi, dead, burning Temple, and Master Kenobi.

A dark thought struck him.

"That's where you're wrong. You bluffed me." Bane cocked his head to the sounds of blasters up a floor, and kept talking. "If I were to get those clones' attention, I'm sure they'd be more than wiling to come on down and investigate. And by the looks of things, you're the one who's higher up on the wanted list."

A slight flicker in those baby-blue human eyes. Ah. That one stung a bit. Now, it was time to wonder how many bluffs this Jedi was liable to fall for in a given time, and to what degree.

"You don't think I wouldn't want to kill you? You don't think I would do it. I know what you're thinking."

"Oh? In case you don't recall," Bane said, holding the rifle up again, "we still have an old score to settle. I decided I was going to provide you with my own little _reward _one of these days. Well. What's wrong with right now?" Maybe he still didn't seethe every time he thought of Kenobi, but then again, if it hadn't been for Kenobi, he wouldn't have experienced that ordeal at the hands of the Republican guards. Neither would he have returned to Happyface.

And found Blythe the night before she planned to hurl herself in front of an airspeeder...

Kenobi straightened his stance and swallowed.

Pain. That was what had changed in his eyes. There was pain.

Which was logical, considering all current circumstances.

"Well, Bane, if your score is with me, in that case, I'm not afraid to fight you. Not even here. I can deal with the subsequent attention later..."

"You're just wasting my time..." The bounty hunter stopped.

He thought of two things at once—the blackened, scorched, ruined face of the human Jedi Master on Nal Hutta, and the Pantoran Padawan screaming in the containment field.

_"We dig him out of his little trouble holes and protect him from personified threats—we get his servies dirt-cheap," _the Jedi Master had said.

Had this Jedi touched Blythe? Or one of the corpses on Ryloth?

Kenobi suddenly spoke up.

"What exactly is it that you want? Do you want a lightsaber collection, or artifacts from the vault?" A bitterness out of deep distress flew like venomous saliva off his human tongue. "Go right ahead, then. I wouldn't stop you—"

"I want Broxin." The name lingered in his mouth like the vile aftertaste of a drink off the Florrum system. This time, he did not enjoy it. "I want Garr Broxin."

The Jedi did not move a muscle.

"Broxin? Broxin who?"

The bounty hunter took delight in the small jump that escaped Kenobi's shoulders when he had a long, cold, Durosian chuckle.

"Don't shit around at a time like this, my good friend Kenobi. You know that name."

"I'm afraid you're asking the wrong Jedi."

The Duros gestured toward the blast door leading back up to the front hall. He cocked the rifle up a notch, glaring back into the eyes of the Jedi Master.

"No one else left to ask. You know that name. Don'tchyu, Kenobi? You know Garr Broxin."

"And what if I did? Whoever he is, he does not sound like a Jedi to me, and you won't find—"

"You _know _that name." He was gnawing on his bottom lip.

Kenobi's eyes flashed, a pirouette in a deep blue sea teeming with thoughts. He dragged one heel back as his hand began to shake the slightest bit.

"Just say it."

"Say what? That I know this Broxin?"

"Fucking _say it_." Bane realized too late that his voice had escalated to a shout, but he forgot to care. "He keeps slipping outta my reach, like a little snake, all the places and names he knows because they agreed to protect him in their deal. It drives me fucking crazy, how many are on his side for their own benefit, fucking crazy. He retreats like a little coward to every one of them. And I'm no fool. You didn't break me then and you won't break me now. You're one of them. You would know where he is. You and your kind know how to find him the quickest and the easiest. You would know, wouldn'tchyu. I stopped caring about the reward on his head a long time ago. All that time you hated me because I don't go by your rules. Well, look what happened to you. Look. Look where you are now."

_How does it feel to be the one burning?_

He stopped. The blaster rifle was shaking.

Kenobi had frozen.

"Bane, what are you talking about?" he asked.

"Broxin! That's what I'm fucking talking about. Look at you now. What, are you the last Jedi? Are there any more left? I mean, really, Kenobi, how does that happen? A whole fucking Order disappeared in one night? That's something you don't get to see every day. I gotta say, it was fun to watch, and I won't forget it for a little while. But Garr Broxin—" the pain in his head reached such a severe spike, he had to take a step back as if in retreat from it.

"I do not know this Broxin. I swear it."

He burned for this. He ached for this. He had to hear this confession from just one Jedi. He had to hear the exacts words spoken, _"all right, I fucked Broxin's little girls dirt-cheap, and maybe one of them could have been a stupid, sick Lethan. It's no big deal."_ One confession. Just one.

That was all he wanted. A guilty party on which to pin the one crime he had not been able to digest, a crime that was in every which and way legal, and for him, a crime made personal. A scapegoat to make sense of it and pardon his own confusion. Not just that.

Somebody else to blame for the wrecked, bleeding, dying mess that was his little red girl, Blythe...somebody besides himself.

For if nobody else was left to blame, not the Jedi or Broxin or the Corrino family, there was none left but himself, and the undeniable fact that he could never have the little red girl he wanted, possibly needed.

"_Say_ it," he snapped.

"I'm not afraid to kill you, Bane. I swear, I have never heard that name before. What do you want me to say? That I _do_?"

The Duros listened to himself stop breathing.

"Is 'dat the truth...?"

Obi-Wan Kenobi did not answer.

"You swear...you don't—" he coughed and his hollowed stomach gave a lurch. "You can swear 'dat on all these dead Jedi. How about your ransacked Temple? Well? Can you do 'dat?"

"Who in the blazes is this Garr Broxin?"

_Shit. _No confession.

Maybe Kenobi was actually telling the truth. Maybe that Padawan had been telling the truth as well.

"So, you don't know." Bane's lips cracked as he grinned halfheartedly. "You're telling me that all this time you walked down these halls, and you never heard or saw or smelled any little thing? You never listened to a conversation talking about the underage prostitutes for sale? No. I'm not going to believe that. I'm just not going to believe that. No matter how many Jedi mind tricks you play on me. And lightsabers don't work either, it's been tried." As Kenobi took a cautious step forward, Bane slank back, chuckling again. "I am goddamn honest-to-goodness-fucking tired of all your Jedi lies."

"What lies?" But he asked it as if he already knew the answer.

Cad Bane's bulbous, pale eyes glazed over Kenobi's, searching for what he almost wished he would find there. But he did not need long to realize that he would never find it. It was not there.

Like he had said, the Jedi are very naive.

"You must have known. Well? Did Skywalker-boy boast about it? And how Broxin only charged a cheap forty creds for a lap dance? How you agreed to bail him out of trouble in exchange for—"

"You're the one who's lying." It was the Jedi's turn to snap.

Bane watched Kenobi re-take that step. Something, in his eyes. Something he had not seen before.

Horror. Shock.

"Speaking of which, where is Skywalker-boy, anyway, and his little Togrutan apprentice. Find them yet? I bet you miss them; I bet you're looking for them." How he enjoyed this, to finally say this to a Jedi's face. He enjoyed his place on this side of the conversation. He enjoyed the toxic look of horror and shock spreading on Kenobi's face as it slowly, piece by piee, began to occur to him. Nobody had warned him on how dangerously delicious it would be. "Hell, if I wasn't occupied with Broxin at the moment, I might let you hire me on an attractive sum of credits to dig up what's left of their—"

"I have no reason to trust your word, bounty hunter," Obi-Wan hissed.

Cad Bane shook his rifle and tapped the rim of his hat three times.

"You know it's true. Don't you?"

"What do you mean, it's true? That the Order would have allowed a man like Broxin to make those _deals _right here? It cannot be."

"Either that, or I went to all this trouble just to inform you of an idiotic lie."

The horror and the shock, at once, backed Kenobi into a state in which he was not breathing, or seemed to feel anything, as if he were dead. His blue eyes turned cloudy for a second or two. Taking a step back to avoid a clone's decapitated body, he stared up at the sacred home of his that was now carpeted with blood, at the few he had dared to love who now lay in massacred heaps, heavy with the knowledge that he might be the last of all and faced a future void of warmth or light and swarming with darkness and mistrust.

Well, good. Now they were not so different anymore.

"C'mon, old pal. Think about it. You were doing all right yourself, and you sensed something was going on, but maybe it wasn't there, so you stuck it somewhere and pretended you didn't smell it."

"So how long was—Garr Broxin here?"

"Don't rightly know myself. I probably don't want to know. Gotta say, you did a good job of hiding it. Me, I just got lucky."

"What did he do here?" Obi-Wan asked, a Jawa-sized lump stuck in this throat. "What was it?"

"A game. It was all just a game."

A game that the Jedi Order thought they could win without anyone knowing, only to discover it was Broxin who came up on top. A game in which Broxin believed he could always drink, always escape, only to discover someone far more powerful was pulling the strings. A game Gasta, Kel, Sexen, and the ninth Corrino brother had attempted to play so they could keep their watchers entertained, only to drown in bankruptcy and a death of isolation. A game where money was the playing cards, weapons ruled the betting rounds, and in the end, it was places like Ryloth that burned the evidence and places like the Jedi Temple that burned the lies.

"I'm afraid I refuse to believe that."

"Denial, huh?" the Duros laughed.

"You know you do not belong here, Bane. You never could even if you tried. You lack hope, you lack code, and any form of honor. You live by no rules except your own, and everyone you touch suffers because of you. You don't know how to care for anybody else. You would not understand what it is to sacrifice or to love. Have you no heart at all?" Kenobi paused in thought. "And what would make this Broxin so special to you? What did he do to you to drive you to kill him? Or is it just another bounty chase you're pursuing?"

He began to raise his lightsaber, but Bane held up the blaster rifle again.

"Maybe I don't like the idea of the Order harboring someone like him."

The battle upstairs was drawing closer. The ceiling shook as a string of explosions went off, killing a dozen rogues at once.

"Also, he stole something from me. I can't get it back. But I can get him."

He wanted Broxin to join every one of his victims, both the dead and the waiting to die. He would pay for this. He would burn for this.

It was Broxin who took away the little red girl.

"I'm not so foolish, Bane. I'm sure you have a list of reasons for daring to set foot into this Temple, just like any other villainous scum would."

"Haven't happened to heard of the Corrino family, by any chance?" he couldn't help but ask.

Kenobi shook his head, as if in ultimate despair.

"Unfortunately, I do know _that _name."

"Well, then you know what I have to do."

"There's nothing for you here. Nothing your kind would profit from, anyway. If you want to leave, now is the time."

At first, Bane was tempted to laugh again, as if Kenobi expected him to fall for yet another one of his bluffs. However, there was something in the way the Jedi said it that made him hesitate, and altogether forget about it. It was very likely Kenobi had been in the Temple for some time already, searching for survivors and artifacts he didn't want to get into the wrong hands.

Suppose he was too late, and this Corrino had been killed by clones minutes or hours ago. And he would have come here all for nothing, all to see what no one had imagined to see for generations, all in the hopes that Broxin would be one step closer. All in the hopes for a guilty party or a scapegoat or someone besides himself to blame.

"I guess that's a signal I should be going, now," he said, his stomach sinking as the tingling of excitement in his hands began to fade out into nothingness.

"In that case, I hope you're a fast runner, Bane."

"Same to you, old pal."

Two old enemies, weapons poised at each other, were locked in a slowly twisting circle as one began to back up towards the blast door and the other held tightly to the lightsaber.

"Kenobi...?"

"Yes, Bane?" he asked, his voice one degree above a whisper.

"Do you ever get headaches?"

"I don't know." His tongue stumbled and tripped with confusion. "Sometimes, I suppose. I got one this morning."

Cad Bane began to chuckle again, as from above he began to hear that beautiful, sweet sound again—fire raging.

"I get such bad headaches, Kenobi. I'm going to smoke my lungs to death, but I can never make them go away, those damned headaches."

Obi-Wan Kenobi backed up, ready to sprint at a moment's notice, saying,

"If we never cross paths again..."

"I know, I know, too soon. But who can tell?"

"Just leave this place, Cad Bane. You do not belong here. You never could."

"I'm going to get him back. If it kills me and I have to smoke a hundred deathsticks until I die in some Nar Shaddaa shithole, I'm going to get him back."

A sudden, small sound gave the bounty hunter a startle, and it was not from upstairs. Breathless, he glanced down to discover the sound had come and was coming from his comlink.

Obi-Wan Kenobi nodded slowly, eyes still locked on Bane's. His knuckles whitened on the lightsaber hilt.

"Go ahead; you may answer it."

_I don't need your fucking permission, _Bane thought in retaliation, but for some reason he did not say it. Still holding up the rifle, he raised his gauntlet to his chin and tapped the comlink with his free hand.

Then he heard the voice.

This time, his heart did stop.

_"This is Garr Broxin speaking." _A pause. _"Hello, Mr. Bane, good sir."_

Kenobi's eyes widened a bit at that. Bane almost nodded, as if to confirm the last of Kenobi's doubtful suspicions.

"Did Aurra Sing tell you how to reach me?" The bounty hunter glared ahead at the Jedi, tempting him to make a run for it.

_So this is what he sounds like._

_"Um, that is none of your business. It doesn't matter. And I might not know your face, but you know mine. Why, just by listening to my voice, you're probably certain this is really me, Garr Broxin. You know it's Broxin because I can tell you that you shot Orett Solarin, and nobody else should know that. The HoloNet said it was a suicide and everyone believed it too." _There was too long a pause. _"Well? Don't you want to kill me? Don't you want to finish what you started? Don't you want to come and shoot me too and get paid to do it?"_

"Leave," Kenobi snapped.

Bane help up his index finger.

"Wait." His eyes bore into Kenobi's as he spoke to Broxin. "If you're trying to tell me you're still on Coruscant, you—"

_"Oh, no, I don't like that place. It smells too much like smoke—but you smell it everywhere, anyway. I'm not there. I'm back home. Ryloth. Remember? Where my good friend Orett Solarin died? I mean, was killed? You should know how to find it, and find me, too."_

"Good luck convincing me of 'dat."

_"But, I think I can. Sing owed a favor. She did try to kill me, you know. I have something you want right now."_

"What..."

Sing owed him a _favor_? What the fuck was he trying to say?

He couldn't mean that...Sing ratted out on him? But she had nothing to spill that would profit her, anyway; anything that could come back to bite her was out of the question. Nothing but—

_ Oh, shit. _

_"The Lethan. Blythe? Is that her name?" _He could hear Broxin smile. _"You'd come for her, wouldn't you? You'd come back to Ryloth, for her."_

Now the headache had truly become unbearable.

"I think you're lying to me."

_"She's mine again, bounty hunter. That is one thing you could kill one million souls for and you still couldn't change that, ever. Really, you shouldn't have left her alone like that. She was kind of cooperative. I think she still likes me the way she used to. But, please don't blame your friend Sing. Her employers are being mean to her, so we made a deal. Don't take it to heart; it's just that she got to me first, that's all. You'd understand that sort of thing."_

No. Dammit. _No_. He refused to believe it was the truth.

Blythe was safe. She was _safe_. He told her he would—

Not Blythe.

_"Beg. Scream. Come back for your little whore you stole from us in the first place. It's just a dare, you know. You know, you're not the only one with friends on Coruscant. And I could tell them to keep her alive long enough for you—alive in the technical sense, anyway. Aren't I right? Would you come, for her?"_

No. She had been _safe—_in _Sleight of Hand—_sick, drugged, fighting to keep the baby alive...!

He could see it happening in front of his eyes, even though it had already happened. One of Broxin's goons or Broxin himself bursting open the door, Blythe firing several blind shots, possibly grazing a shoulder or a leg—the door smashing open, Blythe screaming, Broxin snarling, bashing her in the back of the head, dragging her out by her lekku, and stuffing her in a crate to be taken back to that bloody, life-forsaken planet. No, it couldn't be true. Broxin had to be lying. He had to be.

The Duros shook. Compared to this, the headache was nothing.

"I lied to Solarin. How do I know you're not lying to me?"

On the other line, there was another long pause, the only sound being Broxin's breathing. The terrified, childlike scream that followed, distant and in the background, was unmistakable. It was a scream he would know anywhere. As Garr Broxin began to laugh, desperately, barely able to repeat, _"You'd come for her...!"_ Bane cut the signal with a jolt. His hand and whole arm had begun to tremble.

He would know Blythe's scream anywhere.

After all the headaches and sleepless nights just so his little red girl could fall asleep with a warm stomach, safe and sound, Broxin had made every second of it meaningless.

She _was _gone. She was back on Ryloth.

He stopped breathing. Of course. Garr Broxin had a hunt he needed to end as well. His allies were watching and waiting. It was just as Orett Solarin had said.

So that was all Blythe was to everybody, down to her own parents who sold her. A bargaining chip. A lever to pull for a quick fix. A piece of bait. She was _their _game, their sport, their entertainment. It's all she would be.

And had he not treated her in the same way?

_Oh, no. _Not this.

It was as if then, at that moment, that this Jedi, this old enemy, looked into the paling eyes of the bounty hunter and heard the echoes of the scream that came from the comlink, and he understood everything. It was the way the colors in Kenobi's eyes danced, and his knuckles twisted and loosened on the hilt, and he swallowed painfully. It was as if he understood who Broxin was and what he took, who the Lethan named Blythe was, and why the bounty hunter had come.

Even then, Cad Bane found it in him to tip his hat at Obi-Wan Kenobi. It was more likely than not the last time he would have the chance to do it.

"Goodbye, Kenobi."

"If we ever meet again..."

"No. No, we won't." It was his turn to laugh desperately.

Bane took a step back toward the blast door, forgetting every single grudge he had held against Kenobi in an instant. In light of it, none of them really mattered to him anymore. He didn't care. He just didn't care. Perhaps, in that same instant, he forgot about all of them completely. Like the smaller, less important things were already fading out.

He was stunned to hear an age-old cliche of a parting phrase out of Obi-Wan's mouth. It would be the first and the last time he heard it directed at him.

"In that case...may the Force be with you."

So this Jedi still had hope. That this was not a sunset, but a sunrise. A beginning of something new. That the darkest hour was always just before the dawn.

Then it was impossible. Obi-Wan did not know about Broxin, Blythe, or even himself. That had been some Force trick, and nothing more; that is, if he still had hope. He could not know those things and still believe the dawn was coming.

Bane said four last words to the alone, betrayed, and brokenhearted Jedi before the blast door closed in front of him.

"Too late for that."

* * *

><p>It turned out that, in regards to the remaining Corrino brother, Obi-Wan Kenobi had been right. Not too far from the central security station lay the body of the Boltrunian who had driven him here, killed by half a dozen blasts from a Republican rifle. As the bounty hunter made his way back down the front hall, he heard shouts echoing from close by. A shot or two may have been aimed for him, but as far as he could tell he was not hit.<p>

The pain in his head was trivial to the rest.

Blythe. How could he have not seen it? How could he think that Aurra Sing wouldn't try one last manuever against him?

It was his own blindness that let it happen. The ruins of the Jedi Temple drove him inside, and he had to hear it, and now he was paying for it.

Hadn't he sworn no one would touch Blythe again?

Yes, he had.

So, he failed her. He failed the child. And was still trying to decide if it had been worth it.

Strange how things so taken for granted can disappear within the blink of an eye, he thought.

This time, he saw it as well. Everything was on fire. The world was burning.

A thousand generations had descended to ashes overnight. The storm had come and left the galaxy in a fiery haze. Those once whitewashed warriors were now either kindling or fugitives who had only realized what was happening in their closests and behind closed doors when it was too late. Maybe Masters had killed their own Padawans rather than see them be butchered alive, or a Sith Lord really had arrived to come to the GAR's aid. But the Jedi were gone. It was over.

One last time, he watched the sun fall on Coruscant before turning his back to the blazing scene. The wind and, with it, gusts of black smoke, tugged at his coat and hat. Something inside him ached with a deep pain, yet he would never admit that it was coming from within his heart. He would never admit what went through his mind when he heard Blythe's scream through the comlink.

Broxin knew this as well—that Bane could not complete that ultimate, final vengeance on any other system in the galaxy but Ryloth itself.

The last deep red light of the sunset evaporated from the ruins of the Jedi Temple.

He doubted he would ever see Coruscant again.

* * *

><p>"<em>Please forgive our selfishness<em>_  
><em>_For hiding in our pews while the world bleeds__  
><em>_While the world needs us to be what we should be_

_Please forgive the wastefulness of all that we could be__  
><em>_But don't forget, there's more than this__  
><em>_Her beauty still exists__  
><em>_His bride is still alive"_

_-Gungor, "Song for the Family"_

* * *

><p><em>Author's Note:<em>

_Only five chapters left. If you have not left a review yet, please do!_

_This is the beginning of the end._


	28. To Be Burned Alive

_"Space Bound"_

_Chapter Twenty-Eight: To Be Burned Alive_

* * *

><p>"<em>Love of mine<em>

_Some day you will die  
>But I'll be close behind<br>I'll follow you into the dark"_

_-Death Cab for Cutie, "I Will Follow You Into the Dark"_

* * *

><p>On an ordinary day, after hearing about Aurra Sing's betrayal of him, Cad Bane would have certainly tracked her down and not let himself hesitate to try and kill her. A frank exchange of opinions with an entertainingly close call would have ended with either or both of them as a mangled, bloody corpse. Thus would have been the end of all their things they stored up, things she snatched off the shelves and smashed to the floor. Just what happened to Ael. Only, with a woman who knew more than several ways to defend herself, he would be far less merciful. But today was no ordinary day.<p>

On an ordinary day, Cad would have returned to the rental shop with an outward grimace and an inward smirk, a techno-service droid named Todo-360 at his side, as he climbed aboard his _Rogue_-class starfighter while nibbling on a toothpick or whistling a tune. He would caress a polishing rag over his blaster while accepting a recieved transmission from one of his employers. But today was no ordinary day.

On an ordinary day, he would browse the HoloNet and feel a twang of disappointment at what he saw—but not disgust, and certainly not hatred. Especially not hatred. He knew there were matters the HoloNet did not talk about, matters watered down and saturated with false euphemistic words. The HoloNet had chronicled the noble, heroic tales of the Jedi, describing in intimate detail how Separatist, Sith, mercenary, and other uncategorized rogues had been beaten for every dirty crime they commited. That is, until the process was reversed, and now it was the Jedi who were filthy criminals and rogues, branded as traitors. The Order, and the Galactic Empire itself, were portrayed in digital words as pure and good, which is what the people always wanted to hear. They wanted to know only good things were happening, and bad things, well, those just didn't happen.

Justice. Goodness. What makes a good person good? Fuck the logic; they do good things, so they must be good. Other people do bad things, so they must be bad, and deserve to die. Fuck any other form of logic that would threaten your little self-destructive utopia.

Of course. The Chancellor lies. He denies the aftermath of the storm. And the people loved him for it. How dare they mention what really happened. How dare the truth of whatever force had slaughtered millions of Jedi in one night be exposed in its raw ugliness and beauty.

But today was no ordinary day.

Cad would know Blythe's scream anywhere. If not in her quickened breaths and child's cry, then the way her limbs froze up and her complexion turned to that strange purple hue. When she panicked in the Happyface train station, when Ael drove her to a breaking point, when he found her blinded and bleeding on the ground—and when he pressed a blaster against her head, wishing he was able to pull the trigger.

What sort of screams could a man with Garr Broxin's experience pry out of her?

What if the last pieces of her would not be there when he arrived on Ryloth?

He had failed her.

He had become somebody he couldn't afford to be. Somebody who could not stand an empty, cold void all to himself. Somebody who could lose control. Somebody who could not stand alone. _That _was what she had done to him.

She had destroyed him in the most dangerous way possible—from the inside-out.

But he loved everything about dangerous, after all. And it had been the best form of destruction he could have ever dreamed of.

And this was what he received in return. _This_.

Empty hands and that echoing scream followed by Broxin's cryptic message: _"You'd come for her...You'd come for _her_...!"_

This draining, searing tremor that, literally, _hurt_.

Once in the cockpit of _Xanadu Blood_, Cad Bane lit and immediately began to smoke on a deathstick, and the previous desire for the delicious taste was satisfied for a few blissful moments. But the effects of the remedy were delayed for a much longer time than he was used to. His eyes ached. His stomach was beginning to go cold after draining the remaining fuel out of his body.

As _Xanadu Blood _at last broke through the atmosphere of the Coruscant system and into the black uncertainty of space, he wished again what he had when he pulled out of Ryloth.

Somebody, please, invent something that blows up entire fucking planets. Destroy Coruscant. Destroy Nal Hutta. Destroy everything. It would be better.

He heard it—Blythe's scream, so close and yet so far away. It came from Ryloth. That cursed planet. While Coruscant was swaddled with ashes, burning bright, and looking out to a fiery and treacherous sky.

Yes. That was the cause of the headache. He was burning. He always had been burning. And now things fall apart from the inside-out.

The Corrino's. The Jedi Order. The Republic. And now even himself. All things falling apart.

He lit a second deathstick. Yes. Even his hands were shaking again, as he pulled it away from his mouth and sucked in the lethal smoke. The headache, it could not distract him again, not like before. Must focus. Must not be dragged down by the damn—_god, that fucking, fucking pain_. No. If there was ever time it _could not _distract him, it was now.

Concentrate.

_Oh, Blythe. You never should have expected someone like me to keep a promise like that. Like I'd protect you, never let them hurt you, the kid was going to be all right. Why did you do that?_

_ Why did you have to go and believe me?_

_ I didn't believe me._

An incoming signal from Coruscant reeled him back into a full sitting position, and he flicked the control out of second nature. Quickly, he doused the deathstick. To his surprise, the signal was from Embo. Cad pinched the bridge between his eyes to clear out a wave of white streaks the headache had brought on.

_"I heard about it. Sing requested my assistance in the favor, but naturally, I declined," _the Kyuzo said as soon as the transmission had come through.

It took Cad Bane a second or two to understand what Embo was referring to as _it_. Then, once it was clear, he tried to laugh, but ended up coughing instead.

_"Just checking...you're aware that you are falling right into Mr. Broxin's trap, are you not? This is exactly what he wants you to do." _There was a small pause void of the unsaid reply on Cad Bane's side. Then, _"It's somewhat unlike you, Bane, to deliberately plant a foot in the snare Did you stop to—"_

"Thanks for the tip," Cad interjected, cutting him off. "What do you think you are, a shrink? Or am I just a fucking sympathy case to make yourself look better?"

_"I didn't call you for that. Maybe I was just curious. Or I would like to be informed of what conditions the Jedi Temple is in. Did you consider that possibility?"_

"I'm done with Aurra Sing," he said resolutely. "She couldn't decide if she was hiring me or if she wasn't. Anyway, it doesn't matter, now. She had her fun. And I'll give you the privilege of telling her that for me."

_"Wouldn't you prefer to do it yourself when you get back?" _Embo couldn't resist asking.

Cad lit another deathstick, grabbing one wrist in an attempt to stop it from shaking so much, but it did little good.

"No, I don't. I don't think I'll be coming back."

He remembered them, now—all the good times he had had in the past several years on board _Xanadu Blood. _All the ships they brought down, all the innocent lives they occasionally kidnapped, and all the miscellaneous motherfuckers they blew to bits, a slip and a bang and a _boom_, another victory for the duo without an audience. Who knows what had happened to the old _Sleight of Hand._ Had Broxin taken it for himself? Destroyed it? Gave it to Sing as reward?

It didn't matter, anyway. He wasn't about to miss the old rusting piece of junk.

_"Tell me what you mean,"_ said Embo.

"You d-damn-well know what I mean. Because you know it, and I know it. It was always about Broxin. He thought he could make an easy thirty grand; he tried to sever his ties to the Corrino's. He's always been able to slip away, but now he's sitting right in the most likely place, just waiting for someone to come and snatch up the bounty. And now he has..."

No. He couldn't even say it aloud.

Broxin has Blythe.

_Blythe_. _What have I done._

Why did he buy her in Happyface? Why didn't he leave her at that medical facility? _Why_?

Was that how much he wanted her? So much so that she was just another in a countless list of those sorry individuals who got in his way of another payday or another day to breathe in oxygen? Was it worth it, then?

Or was it only because of that one, simple cry that he had not been able to release the grip of the little red girl, that cry of, "Please. Don't leave without me. Don't leave without me..."

_"So he's on Ryloth,"_ Embo finished for him. _"Well, I am disappointed I will miss out on the bounty for his head. Enjoy yourself. I will be waiting for the next update and I look forward to hearing about it."_

Cad found himself enjoying the tone in Embo's voice—marinated in a subtle, professional sarcasm, with a dash of something like a bit of relief. It was as if Embo did not want to know what he would find in Broxin's territory on Ryloth. As if he knew. He knew.

The last thing Cad should be doing is thinking about what was down there—and where Blythe could be headed, this very hour. This very minute.

"If you see little Ms. Sing, on Coruscant or wherever else," Cad snickered, "tell her there's somebody waiting for her in hell who is going to give her a piece of his mind."

_"Oh, I don't know if she'll take to that kindly."_

"Well, that's kind of the point."

_"If that's the case, you seem quite confident you'll be able to take down Garr Broxin by yourself. To be honest, I know little about what conditions his hideout—"_

Cad's hollow, desperate laugh cut Embo off.

"No. I wasn't talking about our friend Broxin."

That seemed to give Embo food for thought.

_"Just what are you planning to do on Ryloth?" _he asked slowly.

"I'm going to end this."

_"End what?" _Embo only sounded all the more confused.

"What I should've ended a long while back."

_"I do not understand...?"_

But the signal from _Xanadu Blood _was already gone.

* * *

><p>Earlier words spat in his face—pounding, unstoppable, in perfect concordance with the headache.<p>

_ "Everyone you touch suffers because of you._

_ You don't know how to care for anybody else._

_ You would not understand what it is to sacrifice or to love."_

Obi-Wan Kenobi had been right.

Oh, shit, he had been right.

A sound like that of snapping bone filled the _Xanadu Blood _cockpit.

* * *

><p>Embo, in the pilot seat of his own custom starfighter, gazed at the smoke still rising on the Coruscant horizon. He knew nothing about Broxin's hideout save for the fact that it existed and was on a piece of land owned by the man himself.<p>

He did know, however, that he had made a vow to the bounty hunter named Cad Bane. He still owed him a favor. To turn away from such a vow was not only a disgrace on his Kyuzo race, but the ultimate and dishonorable end to his career as a bounty hunter. After all, it was a great rarity to see one in his field of occupation willing to make vows, much less keep them, and that fact placed Embo in a very special field, should he not break it.

Then there were Bane's cryptic words on the subject of someone seeing Aurra Sing in hell. If he hadn't been talking about Garr Broxin..._who, then?_

It was all too clear to Embo, at that point, that Cad Bane had more plans for Ryloth than he had said aloud. Something was pulling him there like a magnetic shield. Perhaps it was not simply a literal bounty on Garr Broxin he was chasing.

Or perhaps it was...just not _that _sort of bounty. A price one man had to pay for some crime that Bane, at the moment, had not let go of. So it was no longer hunter versus hunted, but a wrongdoing versus a rage—a burning, screaming rage that only sought to set these things aflame.

In Embo's experience, when matters became personal in such circumstances, it was suicidal to try and interfere. Doing so would only dig him into a hole he did not even want to sniff at. It was best to back away and let the two angry wolves have their bloody duel, possibly pick at the leftover meat, and pretend nothing had happened. Besides, it was bad enough the fall of the Republic with a so-called 'Galactic Empire' had thrown the whole galaxy into a bloody frenzy.

So, for now, staying away from Ryloth was the safest and most logical card he could play.

But if he did that, he would be breaking his vow.

Was it truly down to whether Embo chose to risk his life, or his career?

He leaned back, grazing one thumb over the edge of his shield-hat, lost in thought.

What was he supposed to do?

* * *

><p>At first, Cad Bane did not believe his eyes.<p>

Surely, because of the headache, they were playing tricks on him.

He ran the heat scanners just before all went dark, like night had fallen in half a second.

It was smoke.

Black, furious smoke that would have all but blinded _Xanadu Blood _were it not for the heat-sensitive radar systems, drenched the Ryloth atmosphere like the thickest of clouds. At first it seemed to be a black substance down below, a swarm of insects, until it was apparent that they were not above it, but inside it. Surrounded by it. It was as if the sun itself had died on them to a cold, pale moon. The lights of the cockpit flickered on, casting chartreuese beams against the shadows over his red, red eyes.

He peered closer where he expected to see the green, lush paradise that was Ryloth's evergreen hills, the white-hot suntanned rocks, and muddy water lakes, and flat plateaus, the melting pot of crippled, deformed rainbows he had seen plenty of times but never took the time to notice much less appreciate. But all he saw was hell's fire.

The once green and rainbow-blessed paradise had been charred to a lifeless plateau of smoldering, gray ash. Trees and brush that had not yet crumbled were alive with the ravenous flames, stalks of blackened pillars pulsing with the scarlet embers. Ashes carpeted what once had been green. Now, this entire area of Ryloth, all of which Cad knew had been purchased by Garr Broxin for business profit, resembled little more than a graveyard.

It was then that he realized it was not just the surrounding forests that were burning. The dreaded black buildings, too, strewn across the clearing, had been set aflame. All the things inside were melting apart—walls crumbling, piece by piece, taking away the evidence of their crimes. Only a few remained of what might have been only several more, or possibly many more. Nevertheless, every single one of them, burning spots on a desolate land, screamed on fire.

Perhaps, he wondered, that was where the fire had began. It would make sense that Broxin would intentionally do such a thing.

This was a sort of smoke he had never seen before.

Not even the Jedi Temple had burned like this.

Here, in this hell's fire, Garr Broxin was waiting for him. So was his little red girl.

This _was _him, he decided with a short-lived laugh, as the ship gave a shudder before touching down on the ashen ground.

He _was_ Ryloth. Blythe _was_ the fire. And he was on fire. She had set him aflame. But it had been the best form of destruction he could have ever dreamed of.

His own words echoed from what felt like an eternity ago.

_How does it feel to be the one burning?_

Cad Bane clenched on the rim of the cockpit, his hands still shaking. Smoke poured in, stinging his eyes with the sudden attack, but he had been prepared for it. He pulled himself up. He snatched his extra blaster and hid it in its usual place. He slapped on his hat in his habitual manner, as the lights of the cockpit died out behind him. With a final effort, he swung his legs over the edge and landed on a mound of ashes that wafted up from the ground. Were it not for those wonderful breathing tubes, he would have probably suffocated already at this point.

He took one step. The ground was hot and sandy, just like the last time he was here. Only now he could feel the glowing embers crunch under his boots and slowly melt away at his soles with their tiny white-hot fangs. Another step. The smoke seemed to work its way into his eyes and, if it was even possible, only made the headache all the worse. He turned around to glance back at _Xanadu Blood_, but it had already disappeared into the smoke.

Take another step.

Inside—not in his mind, but in his heart—he made one last promise. And this one he would be certain to keep. This was one he would never break.

Either Blythe left Ryloth with him...

...or neither of them left at all.

Any other alternative just didn't make sense, and was without reason.

Was there any real reason to go another day without her? Any reason to pretend he didn't need it? That he could go on just fine without knowing that if he turned around, she would be there?

No. That's right. There was no reason.

It was Blythe who drove him here. It was Blythe whom he had not been able to pull the trigger on.

So it would be her who got him out of here when it was over.

Yes. He needed her.

And then perhaps Blythe would be able to keep her own promise—to go up so high no one could touch them, and see what it looked like behind the clouds.

Something snapped in his side, right where the old lightsaber wound was located. He stopped in his tracks, coughing on a mouthful of smoke, and paused for the pain to pass. A shudder shot up his spine. He dug one knee into the hard ground to regain his composure. By now, he didn't just see it—he _heard _it. Arms of flames ripping at the forests of Ryloth. Smoke rising and blocking out the sun until there was no light. Trees snapping and crackling and bending under their own weight. The black buildings melting like wax with all that was inside them.

Then...shouts? Screams?

He turned his head in the direction of the noise. Through a gap in the waves of smoke, he could have sworn there was something visible. They were silhouettes. A male Weequay shout was followed by the pitiful cry of a Twi'lek female—not Blythe, but someone who had been punched in the throat a dozen too many times.

A collapse to the ground soon followed as that of a dead body.

Cad clenched his teeth, just before he heard another Twi'lek scream. Then, with all his energy, he rose. Head lowered, he pushed on step by step toward the source of the voices. Buildings seemingly popped out of nowhere, exploding in flame. He had to keep walking on, staying on course.

Only a minute had passed when the silhouettes began to emerge as real figures. And that was when he saw. Two Weequay figures were standing slouched and poised with blaster rifles, shouting. In front of them was a Twi'lek, a female. No, more than that. A whole line of Twi'leks, all blurred against the smoke swimming around them. They were coughing, choking, a few keeling over.

Cad took more steps, his soles beginning to melt.

Another blast rang out from the Weequay's rifles. One Twi'lek fell face-first and landed in a lopsided heap, like a marionette, to twitch exactly three times before going silent. The Weequays bellowed furiously at the others, who made next to no sound.

Could the two men see him? Not yet, at least.

It began to occur to him just what was happening less than thirty feet away, and it split a cold, hard glacier in the pit of his stomach.

Broxin's empire was falling apart. Had it been the demise of the the Corrino family? Some other alliance Cad had not known about? The now nonexistant Jedi Order dragging him down with them? Or were his ways simply too much for the newly-christened Imperial Empire to handle? No reason to know why. All reason was dead.

But to Broxin, not one of his spoils or goods could be left for anyone else to take for themselves. Better that he lose his profits on them than someone else gain. If he could not have his empire, then no one could. That was why Ryloth was on fire. He had set his black buildings aflame so no one could come upon them and discover. And to wrap up the finale, he was taking his dearest girls with him—killing every last one of them.

Was it not just happening here? Was it across the whole galaxy? In Happyface—Nal Hutta—Nar Shaddaa—Tattooine and Florrum and Nar Kaaga? Were all of his petty workers drawing out their weapons to carry out one final order from the boss? Were thousands of their sickly, illiterate people dying by the cargo load, right this minute? Did Broxin truly intend for his name to disappear _overnight_?

A whole order, gone overnight. That wasn't new.

Cad raised his blaster, slowly.

Enough was enough. Broxin's turn in this little game had ended.

_You wanted me to come. Well, here I am._

_ I am Cad Bane, I was the deadliest bounty hunter of the Clone Wars, and you took her._

He fired. A brilliant red bolt sailed through the smoke with the accompanying metallic, purring whir that morphed into a shriek.

Yet nothing happened. Neither Weequay was hit. One of them hesitated before shooting another Twi'lek in the head. Then, once the body had collasped, the Weequay turned in Cad's direction. Heat suffocated the air. Nothing in the clearing was not on fire. Everything burned.

Quickly, Cad fired again. This time, one of the Weequays was struck in the side. He twisted backwards with a shout more out of anger than pain. More screams followed. The other Weequay spun around, holding out some sort of detonator; Cad could not tell what kind it was.

"Who the hell are you?"

Cad trembled, the breathing tubes washing his charred throat with clean oxygen. He fired again. An arm of flames roared nearby, sweeping up a handful of the fresh corpses lying facefirst in the ashes at the feet of the two Weequays. The line of Twi'leks, sensing their executioners' distracted attention, began to scatter away in all directions. In a matter of seconds, they had all disappeared into the thick smoke, running for their lives, crying aloud. Cad bit down on his tongue at the scene, half out of disgust and half out of a subtle reminder that, in a different situation, Blythe would have been among them.

But where could they run? Why did they try to run? There was no safety, no solace on the entire planet. Nobody would come to rescue them. Nobody would be there to pull them out.

No matter how far they tried to run, Garr Broxin would always have his property. He would always own them. They would always belong to him. If not in body, then in mind. If not in mind, then in soul.

Why did they run as if there was hope for them?

It was ridiculous. This degradation. This indignity. This horror.

Suddenly, pain exploded in Cad's left shoulder.

He grunted and paused, knowing the real agony was about to follow. Fortunately, it never came. Just a constant sting that was beginning to ache. Good. That meant the blast had only been a graze and hadn't broken anything important. But, still hurt like fuck.

Again, Cad fired, but he missed. The headache was just too much. Too much pain. He couldn't. Not with the headache. His shoulder felt like it had swelled to twice its size, and he held his arm close at his side.

From far away, he saw one of the Weequays arch his arm back and throw an object right for him. The next instant, an acid spray struck Cad in the eyes, mixing with the black smoke. He let out a deep cry at the searing burn that followed.

Oh, he knew that trick. He had used it more than once on his own opponents. How ironic.

_I'm done, _he thought. _I can't. Can't do it._

No, he couldn't be done. He couldn't let it end _now_. Not like _this_.

What about Blythe?

_ I didn't—_

He discovered too late that he had collapsed on his knees to the ground. Blinded by the acid spray and an approaching wave of the terrible black fumes, he coughed a third time, the fire roaring around the remaining figures. It was an orchestra of heat and destruction.

Footsteps approached him, accompanied by Weequay cursing.

"Put your hands up. High, high up. I wanna see you drop your head."

He did as he was told, not knowing what else to do. Someone stepped behind him. He could hear the cock of a raised blaster rifle.

And then it was over.

* * *

><p>"<em>Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player<em>

_That struts and frets his hour upon the stage_

_And then is heard no more:_

_ it is a tale_ _Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,_

_Signifying nothing."_

_-Shakespeare, "Macbeth"_


	29. Retribution

_Author's Note:_

_Reply to Guest Review (Cad Bane lover) - Thank you for the lovely review! There are thirty-two chapters total, so we have only three more to go after this one. I love the idea of writing more Cad Bane stories after "SB" is finished, but I will probably take a short break to work on some other projects._

_The incoming reviews have been simply stupendous. Thank you to everyone who is kind enough to leave one. Each one means more than you will ever know._

_These next couple chapters include the sort of images that have been in my head for well over a whole year – the images that drove me to write "SB" in the first place. Yes, I am getting emotional. But enough of that._

* * *

><p><em>"Space Bound"<em>

_Chapter Twenty-Nine: Retribution_

* * *

><p><em>"You don't have long<em>  
><em>I am on to you<em>  
><em>The time, it has come to destroy<em>  
><em>Your supremacy"<em>

_-Muse, "Supremacy"_

* * *

><p><em> "Bane, you know this isn't just about the Lethan girl. It's about every one of my allies watching and waiting to see if a bounty hunter can take on the Corrino's and their allies..."<em>

* * *

><p>His eyes were open. But he couldn't see a thing.<p>

Holy shit, he was blind.

The back of his head felt warm and wet. Had he been clubbed, shot, or had any of it really happened at all? What if he had imagined the shooting and the fire?

It didn't matter if Cad Bane would have admitted it to anyone or not. He was afraid.

"Are you awake?" someone asked from above.

He coughed up a thick chunk of blood.

"The name's Cad Bane."

"Is that so?" asked the Weequay standing above him. "I wouldn't go using that name around here, because the boss is waiting for somebody who goes by the same."

"No, Trev. That's Bane, all right. I'd know him anywhere," said another Weequay voice from behind him.

_ Well, I don't know you, _Cad thought drowsily. _So I must still be a celebrity._

"Is that so?" the first said again, still sounding skeptical. "Well, in that case, you're a wanted guest. Like I was saying, the boss is waiting for you inside."

"I can't fucking see..." But it was only a half-truth. He was beginning to see again, to some extent. All that was visible was a dark, blazing blur that swirled in front of him.

"Trev hit you with a luma grenade. You should be fine in about five more minutes," said the second. His voice sounded hollow, as desolate as the surrounding land.

When Cad closed his eyes, he saw Blythe looking up at him, bloody and sick with fever, and full of diseases. Whispering it, _"Don't leave without me..."_

_ I won't, Blythe. I won't leave without you._

He felt one of the Weequays grip him by the armpits and hoist him up. He could still smell the smoke, but not just smoke. It was something different, rising above and beyond. Some part of him knew he had smelled it before.

"Now, walk."

"I told you, I can't—"

"It's all right," said the second in a faint murmur that scarcely passed a whisper. You know this path. You've been here before."

Cad took a short and shuffled step forward. Beneath him he felt a hard, rocky ground. His sole brushed a pebble and he kicked it to the side, followed by the _clink _of the pebble hitting a large boulder.

Now he knew this place. He was on the plateau.

This was where he killed Orett Solarin.

Cad said, "Hey, I need a smoke."

He said it half to analyze what these guards were made of, and half because he would have actually started snapping necks to get one had he not been blinded.

The Weequay behind him, the first one who spoke, just laughed and jabbed the middle of Cad's back with the nose of the rifle.

"No, you don't. That's probably the last thing you need right now." The rifle nudged him again, rattling an older bruise.

Then Cad realized what that smell was. That dreaded, terrible, rotting stench that he, being no more than a simple bounty hunter, was supposed to walk past as if it wasn't there, but he _had _stopped, and it was still here as it always had been.

The smell of death.

Although his vision was returning, surroundings sharpening as if on a holoprojector, he no longer needed it to know where they were going. And all he could do was keep moving, as he prayed one solitary, silent prayer. A prayer that he would not find his little red girl among _them_. That in one way or another she was still alive.

A black image loomed in front of them at the top of the plateau, from within bringing that awful smell.

"Well? Go on. Get on with it. He wants to talk to you," whispered the second.

Garr Broxin couldn't be waiting _inside_.

A third time the rifle hit him. Guess he was right.

He wanted to retch from the smell even before he had stepped through the open doorway. He knew what he was doing. He was walking into a slaughterhouse. And this one was going to be worse; just by the smell of death coming from within, he could tell, all right.

A pale, rounding, human figure spun around, roughly fifteen feet away from the entrance. Cad immediately recognized the face of Garr Broxin as the one he studied and memorized mere days ago. It was a pink, oily face, with wide baby-blue eyes as full of life as the corpses surrounding him. He was standing in the center of what looked very much like the inside of a starship—no, it _was_ a starship. It had been broken down and half-buried in the rocks.

Broxin's feminine lips trembled at the corners when he noticed his 'guest' had arrived.

There he was. It was him.

An old chant made Cad's knuckles tingle.

_Kill Garr Broxin. Kill._

"As you requested, sir, we didn't shoot him," the second Weequay whispered.

"Don't give a damn about me, Broxin. Your little watchdogs half-blinded me," Cad couldn't resist saying, even though he decided his vision was for the most part back to normal by then.

"Well, that's too bad." Broxin was wiping his hand on a clean towel, and chewing furiously on a hard candy that cracked and snapped between his white picket fence teeth. His blue, bloodshot eyes glazed over that of the Duros' with a lazy perception, as if in a dream-like state.

Cad felt a blow to the back of his head, rattling the headache into a level of pain that made him shudder as he leaned forward on his knees. He bit down on a string of vulgarities until he tasted fresh blood in his mouth.

"Then you won't be able to see that coming, will you?" said the first Weequay.

"All right, Trev, let's go," the second sighed, and then the last thing Cad would hear him say. "Broxin said this would be our last order. So let's just go. Before the whole fucking planet burns up."

Broxin blinked, as if in disbelief, as the two Weequays backed up and turned away, never to return.

But Cad Bane just laughed, spitting up more blood onto the floor. Nausea tickled the back of his throat. He looked up, but the sickness did not cease. The smell was worse here—far worse than he remembered it being in the dump. It was—different. It was. _Fresher_. Layered on top was the stench of burning flesh and bone and dead ashes.

This place was bigger. It was _much_ bigger. At least five times the size of the one he stumbled on before. Maybe even bigger.

But—children. None of them could possibly be over seven, maybe eight years of age. Rotting in the corners like scrap meat for the dogs. Lying in heaps like garbage. Dried blood of various colors spilled on the floor of the ship's main hold. Some small enough to be stacked into crates by the dozen.

He wasn't going to look. No. He could _not _look. He had already seen it. He had to keep his focus. Don't _look _at them.

All the pairs of empty eyes were there, staring, waiting for a final vengeance to put their tiny souls to rest. It was enough to know they were there. It was enough. Waiting for a retribution.

To the left, a gaping window looked out in the direction they came. It must have once been an entire wall of the starship, deliberately torn out for a pretty view. It was in front of this window that Garr Broxin stood, cleaning each of his fingernails with a nail file. The main hold of the broken down ship itself glistened with empty furniture.

In the corner, tucked behind Broxin like a minature purse, Cad noticed a small Twi'lek girl with pale turquoise skin, very much alive but so skinny it was sickening to see.

The only source of light streamed in through the lone window. Fire raged across the entire horizon. The last of Broxin's black buildings were burning down.

Broxin was the first to speak up.

"My friends, the Corrino's, and then their friends, the Dio's...you, do you know where they are right now?"

Slowly, Cad Bane got back on his feet and walked forward. In front of Broxin was a game table, complete with a deck of standard playing cards. He tried not to think about why Broxin would keep a game table here, of all places. Not just the main hold of a crashed starship but the worst kind of cemetary.

"Search me," he said. "Dead. Scattered. As if you would care about 'dem, anyway. You never did, did you."

Broxin leaned forward, snapping his fingers at the green Twi'lek girl behind him. "Come closer. It's all right. I didn't ask for your attention just to shoot you or anything. Come closer. You came for me. Didn't you? To end our little game."

"You didn't need to put the bounty on my head."

"Anything to save my skin. If that's what it took, I could spare the expenses."

Cad glazed one hand over his chest, making it look as if he were brushing away some dirt. He was pleased to find the third hidden blaster still remained. Turns out whichever Weequay who searched him had been in a hurry or was just too damn lazy. Perhaps the backup could be of some use to him one more time.

"But it's not just me, or is it?" Broxin asked, as he snatched a bottle of Corellian whiskey from the game table, popped off the cork, and took a thirsty swig. His Adam's apple bobbed up and down as one amber drop trickled down his chin to his neck and collarbone.

Cad felt his stomach give a lurch. The smell, mingled with that of the smoke, was suffocating. If it had been bad last time, it was twice as worse now.

How, he wondered, could Broxin stand the fucking _smell_? Couldn't he see any of it around him? Didn't he know?

But Garr Broxin just took another swig and talked on, drumming his fingers on the game table. The little green Twi'lek dragged two metal stools towards them.

"It's also—I-I mean..." Broxin stammered, as if talking to himself, "the Lethan girl you swindled off that money-hungry Orett. That was a mistake. For both of us. And don't get me wrong, I-I understand you. I understand—" he tapped his left temple, smiling, like a shy schoolboy. "I understand your kind. How you work. I meet them all the time, they, they're tired and need somebody to fuck with who won't bite back. They don't have control over their superiors so they make themselves a superior to an object of pleasure and reverse dominance. It makes all this seem quite normal. When you realize everyone just, well, wants to be someone else's superior, well, everything makes sense. So, I understand."

"Oh, you don't understand me."

"And what if I didn't? Your little Lethan piece of pretty-faced Bantha_-shit _wouldn't be here, now, would she? Would she?"

What Cad heard next sent a shiver down his spine, a shiver he had not felt in decades, and the same fire that raged across the Ryloth horizon raged in the deepest chasm of what he had for so long tried to bury.

He heard Blythe screaming his name.

It was the cry of one who was hollow, driven out of reality and down into madness with the most broken form of agony and helplessness. It was his little red girl being dragged to the platform by tall, dark strangers. She was trapped below on some underground level of the starship. But the worst part was not how innocent and desperate the cry sounded. It was how Blythe said his name. Drawn out, slowly, until the voice had no ounce of breath left to add one ending consonant. A knife pulled through one's chest.

_Bane Cad...help me, Bane Cad._

He swallowed. He had to stay calm. Stay in control. He couldn't explode. Not now. Stay _calm_.

Calm...

"This is what you don't understand about me," he said slowly. "If someone comes after me not for a hiring but to rectify some taste for money like you, I'm my own employer. It's not so difficult. I reach for his heart and I rip it out through his fucking teeth; that's what I can do. You know I would've come regardless of any so-called bait."

It was Broxin's turn to laugh, a sound that bounced off the walls and the bodies. How could he act as if that _smell _wasn't even there?

As the Twi'lek girl backed away, eyes cast to the floor—looking ready to vomit as well—Broxin pointed down at the game table and the two stools on either end.

"Don't feel bad, Cad Bane. You're not happy that I took her away, and that's not so bad. That's all right. It's not _us_. It's just that I got in your way, and you got in mine, and that's all there is to it." He waved the bottle between them. Cad took another step closer, nearly gagging from the stench that just seemed to get worse and worse and _worse_, as Broxin continued. "It's nothing personal. I mean, I'm sure in another reality, you and I would have gotten along real well, like how Orett and I would get along. That could have been us, you see. You see, it's just business. All of it is. It's all just part of the business. You would know that, after all, you're the one who would do anything as long as you were paid good money for it, right?

"Well then, I'm not really that different from you, in the end of it all, I mean. All just for the money. All just a game. Life, all, basically, one big game. Some are the players, some are the pieces—" again, he glanced around, which sent a cold chill up Cad's back—"And some are pieces who think they are the players."

"Just part of one big act," Cad finished. The Corrino's had hunted him for the act. Sing played with him for the act. Blythe's innocence, stolen, for someone else's act.

"The little whore-shit of yours isn't going anywhere. We can wait." Broxin pulled back one of the stools and plopped down, whiskey bottle in hand. "Why don't we have ourselves a nice round of an old, friendly game. How does Sabaac sound?"

"I came here to kill you and you want to sit down and fucking play cards?"

Broxin grinned ear-to-ear. It was a smile Cad Bane knew all too well.

It was the smile of a man who knew he was going to die soon anyway. No matter what he did to prevent it. A man with no empire, whose last followers just ran out the door after their last order, and the only reason he was still breathing was because his whiskey bottle was not quite empty yet.

It didn't matter if Broxin had led his own killer into a trap that was deadly for both of them. It was _still _a game to him. It was _all _just a game.

Cad found himself sitting down in the chair, closer to collasping.

Of course. This was how it all began. It was a simple game of Sabaac. When he played against Gasta Corrino in the Hawke Noth Cantina, he used his winnings to purchase one night with the Lethan girl who had caught his eye during her dance. And because of that, the Corrino's had come, and he killed Orett Solarin, and he found the little red girl.

"One more game?" Cad asked.

"One more game."

One final game to end all the games, to enter and exit the same way.

But this time, Broxin wasn't going to be the player.

The cards were dealt. Broxin's feminine lips puckered as he slid the file across his left thumbnail, drawing a slice of blood along the side of his finger.

Cad Bane felt, again, for that hidden third blaster with the utmost care.

* * *

><p>A crackled chuckle rippled from Broxin's throat as he held up his half-empty whiskey bottle.<p>

"Just a good old game of Sabaac, right? No harm in that." Broxin yanked out the cards, shuffled them, all the while smoking a cigarette.

"Just a good old game, huh?" Cad echoed, picking up his cards. "Is that all it was?"

"Define _it_," said Broxin.

"How about," said Cad, picking up his hand, "the way you've seemed to handle every one of your little pals since I did you the favor of picking off Solarin. Yeah, we both know it was a favor. It was never about who you can trust. It's whose pocket you can slip your hand into the quickest while they're distracted by all your candy. How about it?"

"What's your bet, bounty hunter?"

"A thousand credits says you never wanted to team up with the Corrino's in the first place."

Broxin's right eye seemed to waver a hair too long over the very spot Cad's third blaster was hidden. He held up his five Sabaac cards, cigarette smoke floating around the edges. The beautiful aroma melted on Cad's tongue and almost made him forget his growing nausea.

"Two-thousand I bet you'd _love _to know where the Lethan is keeping up and, just for the record, I have to say, I d-don't think she fits in as well out here as she used to."

_Stay calm. For Blythe's sake. You fucking stay calm._

Not too far away, a black building crumbled to the ground in pieces, collapsing in on itself like a house of cards, for all those strong and weak, big and small, fall apart.

The main hold was silent, and as black as the coffin it was.

Even then, Garr Broxin helped himself to more whiskey. Even when dozens and perhaps _hundreds _of those eyes were staring at him, begging for his blood, he saw or heard _none_ of it. Meanwhile, Cad choked down a wave of vomit.

"One thing at a time, Cad Bane, one thing at a time. Now, have at it. Let's finish the game."

Finish the game. Finish every single one of his fucking games once and for all.

Cad slapped the tabletop with an open palm.

"Ten thousand," he said.

"Goddammit," he giggled, "do you even have that much on you?"

"I intend to win."

_Hold on, Blythe. I'm coming. Please. Hold on. You're going to be okay._

No. He couldn't let himself start thinking about what had been done to her.

"You, you, you plan to bet all of this? Fine...fifteen thousand."

Cad inched one finger toward the front of his coat, resting his forearm on the armrest to avoid as much suspicion as he could. He tasted a growing mixture of hot blood in his mouth. And yet still, he focused. He had to focus. He had no choice but to focus.

This is what he was born for. To kill. Kill Garr Broxin. There was nothing else.

"A mutual return, Broxin. You wanted the Corrino's out. You lose your best alliance. Where in the hell did you plan to scrape that hundred-thousand creds up when I landed dead on your doorstep?"

Broxin bristled. The slightest bit of sanity seemed to return to those eyes of a madman. Then, after leaning forward, he said,

"Twenty."

"Forty." There, he had already passed how much he purchased Blythe for in Happyface.

"_Sixty_-thousand. And I knowyou haven't got that much," Broxin said.

Cad cocked his head to the side. He leaned forward as well.

"Maybe not in cold cash," he answered.

"And wh-what other form would it be, really? Because, trust me, if anyone besides me could spend all night playing around with stuff that doesn't move or make noises, I wouldn't need to ask for any f-fucking agreements or other. But my good friend Orett, he said I have something that makes me—special? One of a kind? Something about how he had never met someone like me. What do you think? _Am_ I special?"

How he wished Garr Broxin were special, one of a kind.

But even the most naive Jedi could figure out that he wasn't. There always had been, was, and always would be countless men who were just like him.

As carefully as was possible, Cad inched back the edge of his coat just enough to brush the barrel of the blaster. And his index finger, slowly, made its way down to the trigger, taking every millimeter with extreme caution. As a distraction, he drummed his other hand along the table, picking at the edges of his cards in a fluid motion.

"Money comes in all shapes and sizes," said Cad.

"Oh, don't we wish. No, money is just money. That simple."

"So prove it and have me lose the game. Seventy."

"Seventy-_five _thousand." Broxin leaned forward, stiffening his back, as if expecting a sudden blow or a loud explosion.

The roaring fire was not just scattered throughout the clearing, but was at its first stages of coming closer to the broken down starship. It would only be a matter of time, then, before this place—which had been Broxin's personal favorite one all along, as Cad now realized—would also be aflame. Only a matter of time.

There was another cry.

This time, Blythe could not even say his name. She didn't have it in her.

At last, Cad's finger curled over the trigger. He dragged one foot back. He slammed his hand of cards on the table, almost making Broxin jump. Then he brushed the rim of his hat.

"You know, you won't beat me." Oddly, Broxin said it more as if he were talking to himself.

"Eighty-five thousand. I win, the Lethan girl goes with me and you're dead," said Cad, still caressing the rim.

"What?"

The Twi'lek girl's eyes widened at that.

"You _heard me_."

"All right. I win, and—and she stays and _you're _dead. So what's your final bet?"

"For old times' sake, five-hundred thousand. And just out of curiousity, you never did have that half a million you'd promised the fella who delivered my corpse, did you?" The headache burned with white-hot, incredible pain. As if along with the flames drawing nearer, it too worsened. His fingers slowly wrapped around the handle of the blaster.

And Broxin, too, forgot how to laugh, and stared at his cards as if mentally dissecting them. The fire less than a quarter of a mile away made the side of his face glow an eerie orange.

"I'd say we're done betting," Broxin finally said.

Cad stopped breathing. He braced one foot, ready to kick back the chair, the same trick he had pulled on Gasta Corrino months and months ago. His blood pulse aligned with the pounding of the headache for the first time. The desire for ultimate, final vengeance ignited the rage. He was on fire.

The game was over.

"Call."

"Call," said Broxin. "Negative seventeen."

"Well, well. Negative twenty-three."

"Are you bluffing?"

"I might be."

The green Twi'lek girl backed away from the table. Outside, a wave of fire billowed with a giant exhaust of thick, black, bloody smoke, almost reaching the wall of the main hold.

Broxin jumped. He dug into his coat pocket to grab something, but he was a quarter of a second too late.

Cad kicked the chair back from the table, scraping its feet against the floor. Like a retracting bullwhip, he yanked out the blaster. His cards fluttered to the floor on either side of him.

"Oh, boy," Broxin mumbled, frozen, staring into the barrel.

Suddenly, the entire building shook. Blood dripped from the ceiling. The chains shook. And then, from the entrance door, there was a loud sound like that of an explosion.

It _was _an explosion. The fire was so close it had detonated a wing of the starship.

Before Cad could regain his focus and balance, Broxin reached for his coat again. The object from Broxin's pocket appeared, ignited with a sharp hiss Cad had now heard one too many times. A white light flashed in a swinging motion. A stinging sensation erupted across the middle of Cad's left eye.

Immediately, it tripled in horrible pain.

The glow from nothing else but a lightsaber illuminated Broxin's face.

Cad kicked back again. He fired.

Garr Broxin screamed.

Agony burned in Cad's eye. For an instant, he couldn't see anything. He couldn't see anything at all. As Garr Broxin clutched at his wounded side, gnashing his teeth, Cad planted his foot on the leg of the table to kick it towards Broxin. Another detonation shook the building, and Cad's feet dropped to the floor.

Broxin pounced like a rabid animal.

_Goddamn Jedi weapons._

In an instant, Cad felt the ignited blade slash at him, humming and whirring and dancing less than an inch from his face. It slashed again. He ducked back, straightening out his leg in a blind side kick. A painful shout followed, and Broxin staggered back from the blow.

He had once promised an unconscious Blythe that no one, especially a certain human, would ever touch her again. Maybe this once he would finally keep such a promise.

Vision returned to his right eye just in time for him to see a lightsaber beam coming right for him, just like on Nal Hutta. But this time he was ready. Before it could reach him, Cad snatched Broxin's wrist. Broxin's forehead bent the brim of his hat as he leaned foward with all he had to bring the lightsaber to Cad's neck.

Cad pushed with all his might, but soon he felt his back scrape against the table. He was bending back. The blade was closer. Broxin shouted in effort. Both their arms trembled and vibrated, eyes locked in on each other, until he was certain all Broxin would be able to see was deep, blood red. Cad could see every drop of sweat forming on the human face, every bloodshot line crisscrossing in the whites of his eyes. Human saliva sprayed his injured eye and the gaping vertical line the lightsaber had formed in its middle. Something in Cad's arm snapped, and the blade slipped down.

He choked as pain pierced his neck and collarbone. He bit down on his tongue, refusing to cry out. He hadn't remembered a lightsaber burn fucking hurt this much, dammit. If the lightsaber dug any deeper, he'd be in real trouble. Broxin was looking right into his eyes. Almost pinned down to the table, he began to thrash to find an opening or a gap in Broxin's hold. His left eye felt like it had swollen ten times over. Its vision was nothing but blinding white. The blaster was still in his hand, but he couldn't budge that arm. Desperate, he struggled to move one of his legs.

"Just, hold still..." Broxin was hissing, and Cad almost vomited at the smell of whiskey on his breath, at how close their faces were. "Hold still and you won't die...like the rest..."

Still choking, Cad dragged one leg back and shot his knee up as fast as he could. He pulled back and did it again. Broxin whimpered through his teeth. Finally, his grip began to loosen a bit.

Cad kicked him a third time, then snapped his elbow across Broxin's face. The metal of the gauntlet shattered his nose and red blood sprayed the floor, and his grip on the human's wrist tightened as he slowly turned Broxin over. Cad Bane rose to his full height, twisting his opponent's arm backwards. In a flash, a snapping sound came from Broxin's wrist. With a shriek, he collapsed on top of the table. The last of the Sabaac cards were scattered in all directions.

But the Duros bounty hunter couldn't take it.

All at once, Cad felt something rattle his right leg. He backed up, glancing down. It only took him a split second to realize Broxin had delivered the million-credit kick.

He watched his kneecap shift ninety degrees to the side.

Holy shit.

Broxin jumped up off the table, gnashing his teeth as his broken wrist dangled at his side. In his right hand he was wielding a new lightsaber drawn from his coat pocket.

But Cad could not stop. No pain or loss of blood or broken bones could stop him now. His mind raced.

Barely able to stand because of his knee, Cad raised his blaster, as pus oozed from his left eye and blood trickled down his neck. He rose, aimed, and fired. The blast sailed above Broxin's head.

"Why'd you fucking _miss me_!"

Broxin stopped midair from waving the lightsaber.

A thick, rusty, bloody chain above his head, struck at the top by the blast, disconnected from its hook, and it tumbled ten feet down, whistling in the air. Cad finally managed a small smile of approval, as the chain collapsed upon Broxin's pink, oily, unscarred head and shoulders, and he screamed like a little child. The heavy weight dragged him down and the lightsaber seemed to leap out of his opened hand. The sweet aroma of warm, fresh, human blood was only beginning to drown out the smell of death. Yes. _Yes_. Wretches and kings, here we are.

We have come for you.

Cad struck the blinded Broxin across the face, twice. Whimpering from the pain exploding in his dislocated knee, Cad raised a sharp kick to Broxin's solar plexus. The impact sent the human tumbling across the table. The thick chain coiled over his shoulders and around his neck, its sharp edges drawing blood, pulling him along with gravity to the filthy, decaying floor. Crying like the infants around him who could no longer cry, Broxin landed in a tangled, bloody heap.

And the Duros bounty hunter, almost falling over, rose up on his uninjured leg. He held out his blaster parallel to his outstretched arm.

Another explosion sounded. Another black building, one that was even closer, toppled down to nothing.

Cad Bane cocked the weapon, glaring down into the eyes of Garr Broxin.

"Now. Let's talk," he said, "about that game."

* * *

><p><em>"I can feel it coming in the air tonight<em>  
><em>I've been waiting for this moment for all my life..."<em>

_-Phil Collins, "In the Air Tonight"_


	30. Just a Game

_Author's Note:_

_ If you never listen to the songs I quote at the start/ending of each chapter...do it, just this once._

* * *

><p><em>"Space Bound"<em>

_Chapter Thirty: Just a Game_

* * *

><p>"<em>The flames illuminate our faces<em>

_And we're on fire_

_Blow a kiss to the crowd_

_They're our only hope now"_

_._

"_And now I know my place_

_And now I know my place_

_We're all just pieces_

_In their games"_

_-Birdy, "Just a Game"_

* * *

><p>Garr Broxin's usual smile and laughter were gone.<p>

It was replaced by a face Cad Bane knew all too well, or rather wished he did not know.

It was the face of a small and helpless little boy. Lost and terrified.

"Well, Broxin? Let's have at it. I got it all figured out."

Cad took a cautious step forward, biting back a whimper as he did. The game table stood between the bounty hunter and the trapped, chained Garr Broxin. He fired again at the ceiling. Broxin let out a shriek as another thick chain came within inches of splitting his face in two but was more than happy to land on his broken wrist.

"You pull a fast one with that little talker—"

"Shaddup! I'm sick of you always doing the talking around here! You had your chance to talk. Now it's my turn." He fired again, and Broxin yelped. The small green Twi'lek stifled a small sob.

"Now wait a minute, and let me explain..."

"I got it all figured out," Cad said again. He grinned wildly as he took a wobbly step closer, letting out a crispy, crackled laugh. "It was you. You and Solarin who talked Gasta, Kel, and Sexen Corrino in on that little bank scandal...wasn't it?"

"What? Where did you get that—"

"Hear me out and shaddup! It all makes sense." Cad snapped his hand at the table, knocking down Broxin's whiskey bottle that shattered on the floor into a million pieces. "You and Solarin signed on an alliance with the Corrino's to clear up your trading routes. They were going to be your protectors, the chums who had the honor of cleaning up all your messes. In return, you gave them your goods dirt cheap, your—" he glanced up and around the rotting carnage around them— "dirt cheap. Just like you did with 'dose Jedi. All you ever knew was how to make big credits, not how to put it in a safe and throw away the key. So you hired anybody with guns who would watch your back for the right price. But that strategy turned out real dandy in the end, didn't it?"

Broxin thrashed under the chains. The rusty, sharp edges cut into his soft skin. Cad watched red blood ooze down the pretty face.

"Later into the bargain, the Corrinos were losing a lot of money, and fast. The war and the crackdowns were hitting them hard. They were dragging you down with them. So you arranged a deal with Gasta, Kel, and Sexen to run a scandal through the family bank. You get your money and those Boltrunians off your back, and those three chums get a clean slate."

He knocked away another bottle, not flinching at the shrill crash that followed. By then, the Twi'lek girl was crying.

"And then I came along and flushed your three chums out. Your one way out of the deal with the Corrino's, gone, and I didn't even see it. Your plans were held off and you were forced to hold on to the alliance. That's why you wanted me dead. I wasn't tying you to the Corrino's. I severed the tie. Seems my little intervention took a shit on your deck of cards, Broxin.

"So you put the bounty on my head because you were afraid I knew you were connected to the scandal and would try to blackmail you. You needed to make sure your own slate was clean. No strings attached. You pinned a bounty worth half a million and made up some lousy story about needing to break off from those Corrino's." He shot the ceiling again, and took two more steps closer to the writhing figure on the floor. "You tried, Broxin. Solarin gave up and tried to rip thirty grand off of me. Now you've given up and tried the same thing, only, you involve less talking and more action." Cad's cracked grin evaporated. "You thought you could stay a step ahead of me. You thought you could hide. How am I doing so far?"

"You f-f-fucking _sleemo_, it's your kind that make things difficult for me, treating what's mine as your own personal machine. Acting like the world is yours. And sticking happy thoughts up her fucking cunt!"

"Then, Broxin, you heard what happened to the Jedi Order. Some attempted overthrow and the purge against the Temple. And you knew the Republic, or now the _Empire_, wouldn't take kindly to the fact that you had held some pretty strong ties to the Order, no matter the reason. So, while your friends the Corrino family burned to the ground, you set your evidence on fire. If you had been sheltering Jedi before, no one would hesitate to expect you'd shelter them now that the law's not on their side. Now it's youwho stands alone. Who can't predict the next move in the game."

He shot Broxin's left wrist, which was followed by a scream of pain from the human.

"Stop that, fucking _sleemo_!" he shouted, choking and wheezing. "Okay! I made a deal with the three brothers. What difference would it make to you?"

"Now I'm positive you never had those credits on you, did'ja? You would have counted on your lightsaber-wielding pals to give you the bailout again. But that method isn't going to work anymore, is it?" Cad whacked the third and final whiskey bottle off the table. He took another step. "How long did it take to stock up? How fast do you think you can lose all those years of collecting and bargaining and selling? You thought you could call all the shots, didn't you? Didn't you! Well, I hate to break it to you, but some of us bite back. Even biting someone who calls all the shots, like you."

The main hold shook as a nearby building exploded in smoke and flame. Outside, the fading light was being sucked by the black, billowing fumes.

Cad Bane heard a cry from below. He shuddered as the cry was hoarser, fainter. More faded.

_Oh, shit, _he thought. _Hold on, Blythe. Please. Hold on._

"Well, Broxin?" Cad Bane shouted.

Broxin tried to laugh, but it came out as a sob. Then he spoke.

"You're right. You, you're right. Kind of. I, I mean, I had the money. Solarin made his money by finding good pieces to sell over to the Hutt clan. I'm sure you killed Solarin for some things he did in those days. But I..." Broxin jabbed his thumb into his sternum, "I, _I _had the money. I had the money. I _had _the money..."

The light faded out a bit, darkening both of their faces and the entire main hold.

"B-b-but he's wrong. Goddammit, Cad Bane! He's wrong. He's _wrong_. I mean, he's a mercenary, a bounty hunter, of course he would get some of it...wrong..."

"The hell you talkin' about...?" But Cad Bane already knew.

Broxin wept bitterly.

"It wasn't me, Bane."

"What weren't you?"

"It wasn't _me_ calling the shots. Solarin wasn't calling the shots. The Corrino's and the Dio's weren't calling the shots. The Jedi Order wasn't calling..."

"What are you saying? You know why the Jedi were wiped out? You know what happened?"

"I know by _whom _they were wiped out."

"You do, huh?" Cad shot two inches from Broxin's head, just to scare him out of telling a lie. He was tired of the lies.

"Why, having my own hired pimps in the Jedi Temple has its advantages, you know? Before they were killed too, I mean. I knew some things about the Temple, and the Jedi too, what they do and how they work, how many of them listen to guys like me. You don't know...who was calling the shots?"

"You lying piece of shit. It was all about _you_."

But the headache pounded its final drum beat, as if it too, were dying. Broxin shook his head, blood dripping from his nose and mouth.

"Oh, no. No. It wasn't about me. It was..._him_."

"What? Who, him?"

"The..._Chancellor_. The _Emperor_. All about _him_."

For a moment or two, the pain was not there.

"I, I—it was never _me_. I was his little piece. Oh, god, fuck. I _am _his little piece. All just a game? His game. His fun. Fearing him outweighs fear of anything or anybody else. You may play the game with him, but even sabaac cards can do that, and then you are with all the others in the discard pile. You say there was an audience watching and waiting to see if you could take on the Corrino's, warning you, killing every last Jedi, a-and letting things fall into place? Isn't that what Solarin said? Well...guess who the _audience_ was. Laughing. Liking it. Tugging and pulling the strings on us. Turning men into animals and making animals beg for mercy. I found out too late, or maybe I knew all along and pretended I just, didn't, know." He choked again, barely able to breathe from the thick chain around his neck. "It was all for _him_. All along. Nobody else wins. Just him. Audience of one and the curtain closes."

Cad staggered back, dragging along his dislocated knee, which had begun to swell. He blinked the oozing pus out of his left eye. As the raging fire made his red eyes glow, his spine turned cold. He was going to be sick.

Because this, too, made sense.

The warning from Sidious...Order 66...the attack on the Galaxies Opera House... and so many Jedi, dead, dead. All of it was because of one man, that one invisible shadow no one could touch or scathe much less comprehend that of its power. One man. An audience of one, sickly old man.

That's who Solarin had been talking about. _That's _who was watching and waiting the whole time. Calling all the shots. Deciding who lived and who died, controlling his pawns with whatever they put most value on—his guns-for-hire, credits, and Broxin, his allies—always there, always inescapable. He was the one who kept Broxin's head above water, and who turned on him in the same instant.

The same hand behind the massacre of thousands and thousands of Jedi was the same hand in the game Orett Solarin had played of buying a body and a mind and a soul in one package, and wrecking them until they willingly threw him cash by dying a little more every day.

_He_...had always been there.

But it was not supposed to matter anymore. It didn't make any difference as long as it meant one was paid fast and paid well. Who cared if you were just an actor, as long as you got your lines and cues down. Wasn't it true?

For in the end, that was all any of it meant. It did not change if you were a bounty hunter, or a pirate, a criminal warlord, a cantina bartender, or a prostitute in Happyface. In the end, everyone is an actor on the world's stage, and the audience of one will watch the pieces pretend they are the players, and when he draws the curtain, all things will fall apart.

There had always been one winner, and only one winner. And Sidious had won.

_Do I even care? _Cad Bane wondered. _Am I supposed to care?_

Maybe he didn't. Maybe he did. He couldn't tell if he cared anymore.

"_None _of it was mine!" Broxin cried, like an infant. His baby-blue eyes burned red against the dying light behind the black, black smoke. "My friend Orett, he was lucky, not like me. He escaped. He got a quick hit to the head and made it out before it was too late. That's what we all _want_, isn't it? To break free? To escape to some half-remembered dream?"

A dream. Like the sunset. Stolen for someone else's game. Stolen for his own game.

"What would you know about 'dat? Why don't I string you up with your collection and we'll see who knows about what you call _escape_."

"What? No, I didn't _kill_ them. Not all of these! That wasn't _me_! I fucking swear!"

Cad shot Broxin's left arm. Then just below his right shoulder. The man's body writhed beneath the chains, riddled with black burns. He lay like a marionette snipped of its strings, curled up on the floor.

"Just stop! Nothing matters at all, Bane! Nothing counts, does it! Everything has a price tag. You can have money, and someone takes it from you. You can have a whiskey, and the bottle runs dry. You can have something precious and innocent, and you let the world come and ruin it. Always someone who plays with you like a card. Always someone above you, holding you up with strings. All pointless. Pointless..." His eyes began to widen with a growing horror. As if it were the first time he could _see _the carnage filling his favorite getaway place. As if it was not until now that the shell of madness was breaking apart, leaving a forgotten little boy in the core, exposed on all sides. That was Broxin. "I never—I never did anything. None of it was _mine_! We all just crumple up and die somewhere and go straight to the hell we built for ourselves!"

Cad Bane cocked the blaster and pointed it at Broxin's head, an ugly taste in his mouth.

No. He couldn't even tell if he cared anymore. There was no reason to care.

It doesn't matter if one individual or a trillion individuals care or not. None of it makes a difference in the end. The sunset fades away, and night falls as it has since the beginning of time, and as it always would. The sunset never stays. Light never stays.

"Well, Broxin? Hm? Bring the girl upstairs. Remember our deal?" He pressed the nose of the blaster into Broxin's forehead, as the baby-blue eyes stared up bloodshot and so, so tired. Tired beyond belief.

"I—I-I'm not gonna do that, I _can't_..."

"_Now_!" Cad screamed.

"I _can't_, I told them to let her bleed! Bleed wherever they could think to make her bleed! I was down there, Cad Bane. Your bitch is probably _dead_ already!"

_Dead...?_

_ Dead?_

"Well?" asked the blubbering, bleeding human who smelled of Corellian whiskey. "Why don't you call for her? You know her nickname. I mean, maybe she's still alive..."

Cad cut him off. Each word cut his throat like a hot dagger.

"Oh, yes, Broxin. My little red girl is still alive, all right. I'm going to string you up here so you can start choking on your blood, and when I bring her back, she's going to put the last bolt in your chest. Do you understand me? Your time is up."

To his surprise, all Broxin did was nod, smile, and cough a bit through his teeth.

"Okay. She'll kill me. That's the best you got. We're all dead anyway, aren't we, Cad Bane. Just—dead waiting to die."

Cad remembered Broxin and Solarin's relations with the woman named Ael—"dead waiting to die" was how he had always described her. So he had not been the only one to do so.

"Did you ever get headaches, Cad Bane?"

Barely able to see out of his left eye, Cad stood up straight, his body giving a shudder. He had asked Kenobi the very same question when he was in the Temple.

"That should be the least of your worries. I do get headaches."

"I hate them. I hate the headaches, Cad Bane. That's why I had to drink all the whiskey, you know. It-it keeps those very, very bad headaches away. Keeps the bad things away. And, it just helps you forget some things, until you don't see them anymore. But. Now, I, whiskey runs out, and the headaches come back and..." he made a high-pitched gurgling sound. "None of it was _mine_."

For a long time, the only sounds were the small Twi'lek quietly crying in the corner, and the fire burning down the last of the black buildings.

"You're right," the Duros bounty hunter finally said. "Dead waiting to die."

"How long have _you_ been a dead man waiting to die?"

After he asked the question, Broxin blinked. And a big, fat tear rolled down his bloodied cheek. He braced up on one leg, pressed his palm into the table, and rose to his feet, pulling the thick chains up with him. Cad did not know how the man could even stand up, but somehow, he did.

Staggering, Broxin looked out to the Ryloth horizon. How it burned everything he had ever known. How it burned the only things he knew were his. His lower lip trembled. A second tear fell, blood-red against the flaming dark.

"Tee?" he whispered. "_Tee_? Wh—where's Tee?" He looked behind him, almost losing balance, but didn't see her. Cad wondered who he was talking about.

"Your time is up."

"Where's Tee? Oh, Force. It's almost over. That damned headache won't be bothering me anymore. It won't be there." Two, three, then five more tears streaked the human cheeks. "I..I worked so hard, and...and none of it was mine. Oh god, oh _god_...none of it was _mine_...where's Tee? _Tee_? Tee."

Out of the corner of the room, Cad Bane saw the small Twi'lek duck behind the corner. He had almost forgotten about her.

"I said shut up, Garr..."

"But, Tee. I need to find Tee, or she will not get out of here. I need to find Tee. She was _mine_...wasn't she? I didn't want any of it. I mean, what I mean is, bounty hunter, the money, the fun, none of it. I guess all I wanted was...to hear Tee say she loved me." Broxin stopped, as if he had received a sudden blow to the head. A pair of baby-blue, glassy eyes surveyed a Duros pair of a fading red, one of which bore a pale, oozing scar down the middle. The two gazes were locked out of time, as if for an instant, they were one.

Then it was as if everything in Garr _snapped_.

Sometimes, in those last few seconds of life, you can learn a lot about a man. For this was not a man, but a child who had learned to look away.

And the human named Garr Broxin, wincing through his wounds and bonds, limped to the gaping window. Cad shot him in the lower stomach, _twice. _Garr's torso snapped, but he didn't slow his dazed stepping and gurgling and shedding fat, round tears. He was falling apart.

"I just wanted Tee to say she loved me." There it was again. "I just wanted Tee to say she loved me." He looked up, searching the Duros eyes for a nonexistant mercy. A requiem to put to rest the growing horror. "Is that too much for me to ask, that _one_ small person cares if you live or die? Isn't that what we all want? If we all had one small person who cared if we lived or die, wouldn't that mean we could go on living and breathing?"

Cad Bane could not answer. All he thought about was Blythe waiting for him a flight below, slowly bleeding to death.

"I...I just wanted Tee to...say she loved me." Louder. "I just wanted Tee to say she loved me. Tee? _Tee_! I just wanted Tee to say she loved me!"

Cad limped back, holding out his lone blaster.

"I just wanted Tee_ to say she loved me_—!"

A final shot echoed throughout the main hold, and Garr fell, clutching a fresh wound in his shoulder.

Cad dropped his blaster at his side. Then he raised it up again and fired at a lead weight that was linked to the chain entangling Garr, which was fastened by a hook to the ceiling. The weight plummeted to the floor, and Garr was hoisted up, like a fish out of the water, screaming all the way up. His trip was halted by a snap of the chain, and his head snapped back.

Cad Bane watched Garr hang there by his shoulders, jerking like a little worm. Cad said nothing, nor felt nothing, but just watched him for all it was worth, and as long as the moment could last.

Then Garr said the same thing Sexen Corrino had once said.

"Nobody's paying you to do this." Then he moaned for the last time. "I just wanted Tee to say she, to..."

Slowly, Cad Bane turned in the direction of the small Twi'lek. He could see her still hiding. As Garr began to black out, Cad took one excruciating step after another towards the Twi'lek. Every ounce of weight he put on his knee was agony. He lifted his finger off the trigger of the blaster.

He must have been a terrifying sight—one scarred, oozing eye, his hat and coat covered in ash, and his knee twisted unnaturally to the side. But he didn't think of it, and briefly studied the tiny, trembling creature before him. It was no contest to figure out who, and whose, she was.

"Your name's Tee, isn't it?"

A faint "Yes," was the reply, and it sufficed.

Little by little, Broxin's movements slowed to little more than short muscle spasms and twitches. His chin began to sink down to his chest. Drool and blood trickled from his mouth as he let out a faint, wheezy cough. Soon, his cries would die out as well.

"I suggest you run, Tee. This place won't be here within an hour."

The girl was still trembling.

"But, what's out there?" she dared to ask.

"You understand me? You have to leave. Turn to your right and run straight ahead; you might find a ship still there." Taking a few steps to the dark stairway in the back of the main hold, he set his blaster on the ground. Then he slid it over to her. Puzzled, she stared down at it.

"Take it."

"You're not gonna shoot me?"

He just smiled, despite the fact that he had forgotten how.

"Good luck, love," he said.

Then he turned away. He took the first step down the flight of stairs leading to the hold below.

There was that terrible cry again.

_Bane Cad..._

"I'm coming, Blythe." She was still alive. She was still alive...

Tee bent down and scooped up the blaster. She looked back up at the tall Duros.

"I said get out of here," he said to her when she didn't move.

"A ship? But—what about when you come back?" Tee asked.

The pale, wounded red eyes glazed over hers, which were contrastingly calm and bright.

"No. No, I don't think I'll be coming back."

And he descended down deeper. Even before he had taken the third step down, he could hear Blythe's voice ring out again.

"I'm coming, Blythe."

No, he would probably never resurface again.

He had promised it. Either both of them were going to leave this place...or neither at all.

* * *

><p>Tee clutched the blaster in her hands. It was heavier than it had looked. Tears streaked the young cheeks. She was still shaking from the way the Duros with the hat had spoken to her. She had known who he was. He was the one the Lethan Twi'lek, Blythe, had told her about—it was not hard to figure out. In real life, and not on some wanted-poster or hologram, he was much different and looked nothing short of terrifying. His giant hat only worsened the effect.<p>

Swallowing a lump in her throat, Tee held up the blaster with both hands, turned around, and approached the twitching figure suspended from a thick, bloody chain. In a matter of minutes, Garr Broxin would be the largest corpse in the main hold. Now, he was just like all his little girls.

Yet, Garr was still breathing. And at last, his eyes were wide open.

Tee thought maybe the scary-looking Duros had wanted for her to shoot Garr. But seeing him squirm, eyes glazed and full of blood and tears, intestines slowly poking out through one of the several burning holes in his tight, bloated body...she changed her mind. She was not going to shoot him.

She wanted to remember him in this way—alive and twitching like a worm. Not a dead body hanging from a hook.

Slowly, she backed away, and said goodbye to her dearest Garr.

_A ship? _she thought. _What does it mean? What kind of ship? _

Then, through the blazing fire and crumbling of the outside of the main hold, she heard one distinctive sound pierce the sky. Something that was a mixture of terror and joy made her begin to cry again.

And the small Twi'lek dashed outside, leaving Garr to choke on his own blood and listen to the sound of his heartbeat slow down, tick by tick. Once through the doorway, she found she was caught in a thick cloud of smoke that drenched the land. The fire raging around her illuminated the piles of embers and ashes that were hurled into the air. Tee gagged and covered her mouth. Her eyes stung, and the heat ached in her throat. She cried aloud as a gust of hot embers brushed her shoulder. The whole world was dark. Her whole world was on fire. Nothing she remembered from before was there anymore, and all was aflame. She might begin crying again. Not knowing which direction she was running in, or if she was running at all and just standing there, waiting to be burned alive.

Then, Tee looked up in time to see one clear gap through the thick smoke, like a clean knife against the blackness. And for a fleeting moment, she thought she saw a starfighter flying above the fire. Then she knew for certain she had not imagined that distinctive sound.

_A ship! That's it!_

On the side of the starfigher was painted a distinctive Kyuzo symbol, bright and brilliant.

She began to scream at the top of her lungs, waving her arms until they might fly out of her sockets. She held up the blaster and fired off as many shots as she could until she had to drop it, and then picked it up again. More tears streamed down her face as that blend of terror and joy swelled in her.

The fire was drawing closer from all sides. If nothing else, she _must _get the attention of the Kyuzo ship.

The only question was, would it see her?

* * *

><p>Cad clenched his jaw. He was prepared for the worst. He had made it this far. Nothing could catch him unprepared now.<p>

The visible bottom step opened up to a dim, bleak room. It was a storage hold, but it was empty. It seemed swallowed in darkness, save for one streak of light through a lone porthole.

He heard nothing. He felt nothing.

He pressed his shoulder into the wall to steady himself. A bad sound snapped from his knee, and he limped down another step. The headache was pounding out its grand finale. He just wanted it gone.

As he limped down the last few steps, leaning against the wall to support his leg, his good eye caught something on the floor below. At first glance, he saw a large piece of raw, bloody meat. But then...

the raw meat spoke.

"B-Bane Cad? You came for me."

He reached the bottom step. He had been prepared for the worst.

_Oh, no._

* * *

><p><em>Author's Note:<em>

_ Only two chapters left._

_ I don't like this anymore than you guys do, but these are the images that made me start this story, so this is how I'm going to end it. I don't know why I do this. It's making me depressed as hell._

_ But if you ever listened to the song that inspired this whole thing, you should have known what was coming all along._

_ Please review._


	31. We Were Space Bound

_"Space Bound"_

_Chapter Thirty-One: We Were Space Bound_

* * *

><p>"<em>You and me<em>

_Have seen everything to see, from Bangkok to Calgary_

_And the soles of your shoes_

_Are all worn down_

_The time for sleep is now_

_It's nothing to cry about_

_'Cause we'll hold each other soon_

_In the blackest of rooms..."_

_-Death Cab for Cutie, "Follow You Into the Dark"_

* * *

><p>He stared down, not wanting to believe what he saw.<p>

"Bane Cad."

He took another step and stumbled, silver needles stabbing his injured knee. It could not be his little red girl who was lying on the dirt floor in front of him. Her back propped against a rusty, cracked crate. Bruised lekku hanging like threads. A silly gaze plastered over her eyes. Not the girl he met how many years ago on Duro, no. This was _not her_.

This was some forgotten, bloodied creature, caught between someone's destination and their justified means, broken, and left to fade. This was a creature—without any legs.

"Bane, Cad?"

The lone golden light shone directly on her sweat-streaked forehead. A black puddle had formed, and was forming, beneath her. And she was trying to smile.

They had left her beaten into the floor, spotted with bruises, and a stringy, splintered, mess that used to be her legs. The mangled stubs were shaking in rhythm under the growing heat. Her pelvis had been torn and stitched back together, and the sewing needles still hung on the ends of the strings. He could not tell how far down the cut reached.

Bane had seen men caught in explosions, taking a thermal detonator to the face or stomach as the last thing they saw. But not this. _This _was worse.

_ Oh, no, no..._

"What did they _do_ to you, Blythe..."

Bane had no choice but to look away. Against the wall behind him, he saw what Garr Broxin had done. Or, _how_ Broxin had done it. What utensils had been used to do this to his little red girl. Then he couldn't hold it back anymore. The headache was too much. Standing in a pool of what had been Blythe's was too much. He leaned forward and coughed up a mixture of vomit and blood—once green, but turned black by all the deathsticks. Nausea tugged at his stomach. He had seen the black buildings. He knew what they did to their property before leaving them to die—that is, after making sure they couldn't run away or escape, in the most certain way possible.

Hadn't he promised to protect Blythefrom such a fate? Hadn't he promised it wasn't going to happen to her? _Hadn't_ he?

But this little red girl was breathing normally, as if nothing were the matter, waiting patiently on the floor, and she was trying to smile.

"I..." Blythe coughed, spitting up something awful as hell, "I so happy you came for me. I knew you was gonna come."

"Why wouldn't I."

She blinked, as if she had just noticed him. She covered her left eye.

"You got hurt."

"Well, I'll get better."

"Said I wasn't gonna get away. Said...you never come." She paused, and her breaths quickened. "Where is he? Is the baby still alive, Cad?"

When Bane turned and looked in the corner of the small hold, he saw a crumpled-up towel lying in a puddle. The towel's original color was unrecognizable. The way it was wrapped, he knew, there was something inside it. Some_one _was inside it.

No. Not the _kid_. They didn't...they _couldn't_ have. They wouldn't rip a child out of its mother's stomach and let it die screaming and freezing and suffocating in the corner. Who would do that for the only reason being that they _could _do it? What was the point? Why?

What had Garr Broxin done.

_That was..._mine_. That was _my _child, _he thought.

It felt as if someone had punched a hole through his stomach.

Blythe squirmed a bit, arching her back. He heard a slushing sound from beneath her.

"Is he alive? Where'd he go, Cad. What'd they _do_?"

He dropped to his knees and touched her arm, just to make sure she was still alive, and he was not hallucinating. His throat ached when he swallowed.

"It's okay, Blythe. He's okay."

"I-I don't..." her voice began to compulse, like someone was shaking her. "I don't f-feel so good, Cad..."

"Listen. Wrap one arm over me. Like this."

Time was running out. Already, he smelled the smoke. He could hear the fire crackling and the explosions in the distance, slowly approaching. Soon the rest of the world would be on fire.

"Wh-what'll you do?"

"I'm going to get us out of here, Blythe."

Her eyes lit up for an instant. But the light could only stay for so long. She had learned the scent of his lies.

But was it so impossible, Bane wondered. What if _Xanadu Blood _was still out there, unscathed by the fire? What if there was a clear path waiting for them? And what if he could carry Blythe, and he would struggle, but he could carry her to his ship and take her away to the outskirts of the galaxy, and the child survived, and Bane would bring him back and teach him how to fire a blaster and pilot a ship, and somehow, it would stay that way year after year.

Was it so impossible?

"No, Cad. I don't think, no. I can't." Blythe coughed a second time, even worse than the first.

Bane placed one arm under her shoulders, and the other under the last of her legs. Then, bracing himself, he tried pulling her up.

"Blythe, come on. Come on." But when he tried, his injured knee swelled and brought him back to the floor. Just like before, Blythe was heavy in his arms, dragging him down. He clenched his jaw. No way some bad knee was going to stop him.

How could he give up now? Everything that had stood between him and his little red girl was _gone_.

"I'm getting you out of here," Bane said to her, as he tried again. It felt as if he was straining every muscle in his body. "You gotta get up. Come _on_. Just try. Please, just try."

"No, Cad. I'm not okay." Blythe winced, then cried aloud in pain.

With one last effort, Bane tightened his fingers around her arm, and battled the gravity and fatigue. He had to shut out the pain. Fight through it. Push through, _somehow_.

When he heard a sharp cracking sound, his legs buckled and dropped. It was too late. He couldn't do it. He just couldn't do it. Blythe's arm loosened around his neck, and her body began to relax. Bane watched her, dazed and kneeling at her side.

Her eyes were watering, and her lower lip began to tremble.

"I jus' dying here, Cad. I jus' one of Orett's stupid girls, but I seen dying. I—I ain't gonna _make_ it, Cad."

He braced his forearm against the back of her head.

"No. No. You're okay. You're okay," he said. More to himself than to her.

"I feel cold..." she whispered.

The golden light hit both of them, as her blood trickled into his open hands. Then, sobbing through a thick, phlegmy mess of tears, Blythe said what he had dreaded the most.

"Leave me."

Bane lowered his head. He tightened his hands into fists and her blood trickled from the sides.

"_Leave_ me, Bane Cad, I jus'..."

"No."

As soon as he said it, she squeezed her eyes shut.

When Blythe let out that long, final sob, muffled against his coat, it was the sound of every cry she had stifled as she was beaten and fucked over and over again, every scream of horror and disgust she had swallowed as strangers' hands played with her like a game, every agonized cry for just one person to rescue her from the hell she was living. It all was released until every last one of them was gone from inside her, and she was done, with no cries left to cry. For every second of it until it had passed, he did not let go of her.

"_Please_. Jus' _leave_ me here, Cad. You have to leave. Have to go."

"You wouldn't let me leave you at that medic bay. I'm not gonna leave you now."

"_Hey_. I die anyway. I born here, live here...then I die here. That's just that. You _have_ to leave me. Find our baby. Take care of him for me, 'kay? Not both of us gonna make it out. You find him and hold him. Love him for me, okay...?"

He could hear the fire raging closer. It was down to the minutes. Everything in him that was still sane screamed to get them out of there. But, he didn't move. He could not move. Blythe, her fingers scratching the collar of his coat, lay in front of him. Dead, waiting to die.

There was no way he could leave her like this. No way he couldn't stop trying. Not after everything he had endured just to keep this girl at his side. She was finally his and only his now that Broxin was dead, wasn't she. _Wasn't she_? Was it so impossible?

He swallowed again. A terrible truth sank in.

Yes. It _was_ impossible.

It was over before it began. It had just taken him this long to figure it out. Because in this galaxy that despises and cannot comprehend beautiful and innocent things, nothing can stay. The unsinkable empires sink. The unbreakable villain breaks. Thousands of children die so somebody can have a quick fix to compensate his rotten existence. All of the terrible diseases stored up in Blythe were incurable, and that last day of innocence merely a memory or a half-remembered dream.

Funny how he had thought they could still have that. That they stood a small chance.

They say the darkest hour is just before the dawn. As if there ever is a dawn at all. Perhaps the sun sets, darkness falls, and that is all there is to it.

Whoever that small Twi'lek was—Tee—probably wouldn't survive another hour or so, if she was lucky. All well. He had tried to help her, for what it was worth.

"You're right. Die here, anyway," he said to Blythe.

"What, what do you mean?"

"Blythe..." he said quietly, "nothing's waiting for me. Nobody's waiting. No one's going to care. No one at all."

"But there is. What about—"

"No one, Blythe. I know."

"What are you gonna do?"

In a flash, he remembered.

"Do you recall that promise you once made to me?"

Blythe said nothing at first, but her face said enough. He softly stroked her knuckles, then her tear-streaked cheeks.

"You said you would take me with you," he finished.

"Yeah, I did, Cad."

"So what's the point?" Bane asked, glancing up at the one beam of light. "Why wait for someone to kill us both? Or just die in the middle of nowhere?"

"You can't, Cad. You have to go. There is _someone_ waiting for you, right?"

"No, darling, there isn't." Then he said what _she_ had been saying to him and over and over for Force knows how long. "Don't leave without me."

"What?"

"Don't leave without me, Blythe. Take me with you."

"But—what about...?"

He wanted to laugh, but he could not laugh.

"I'll take you...then I'll take myself."

Blythe closed her eyes, shedding fresh tears. Silence haunted the dark place. Far off, the dying fire raged one last time. Not just in the black buildings, but in his mind and in his heart, until his thoughts and emotions were all but ashes.

To die. To take his own life. To take her life.

All would be in the hopes that whatever the hell lay after death couldn't be worse than the next moment of living. That the next breath would be more of a curse than a blessing. That she, Blythe—his little red girl, his _mesh-la_—would open her eyes to a paradise. That she could be pure and innocent again. Maybe they wouldn't wind up in the same place. Maybe he didn't care, as long as it was both of them.

Would Blythe fly away and see what the world looked like over the rainbow? Would she be a little girl again, innocent and happy? Would she run and jump, sing and dance? Would she get everything back that was taken from her, that _he _took from her?

He didn't know.

Bracing his arms underneath her again, he pulled her into his lap. Just as he did on the Happyface train. Just as he did in the apartment.

For a long time, Blythe stared up at him, her lip trembling still. Her eyes glistened with tears he knew he had brought. Bane gently stroked up and down her arm, to soothe the last of her, to help her forget the pain. The lone light made his breathing tubes glow and the rim of his hat alive with fire. His hand sank to her chest, where beads of sweat had collected around the broken bones of her ribcage. Her skin was as soft as ever. Like fire as ever. Literally, aflame.

The headache was a burden. He didn't even feel it anymore.

Fire rumbled in the distance, closer yet. The minutes were ticking by. Bane looked into the eyes of this little red girl. The bruises around her mouth and lekku were turning a strange color, as the puddle he was kneeling in continued to spread. The light hit her face perfectly in that instant, and she was beautiful. The beauty of a dying flower before the winter frost. The beauty of a sunset in the instant before it slips behind the horizon, and disappears to night.

How...how did this happen?

Why hadn't he seen this coming?

How could it be possible that only one year ago, he was on the Corellian Trading Route to arrive at a negotiation meeting about a hiring from the terrorist Morallo Eval, and he knew nothing of Orett Solarin or Garr Broxin, and the Jedi Order and the Republic were alive and well? How could that have only been _one year_ ago? How did so much change, so much die out, and so much burn? What had happened to them?

He finally supposed, that's just how things are. That's how the world turns.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice dry and cracked and catching on the last syllable.

"For what, Bane Cad?"

He pulled her closer, bracing his back against the wall.

"Everything." He did not know what to say or how to say it. Not these kinds of words. "I thought I could make you happier, and I didn't. I just made it worse. And I tried. I tried. I don't know how to take care of somebody or help them up, but I tried. It just wasn't meant to happen. Not for us, not in this crazy world. They would never care, anyway. I'm the bad guy, right? I always lose. We always lose. They would just kill us and laugh while they do it. And I would've liked to know I did something good for you, but it was never in me, and I wish I could've changed that, but I didn't. I never would have.

"I'm sorry," he said again. "I wasn't good enough for you. You never deserved me. You didn't deserve any of it. But you had it, anyway. Other people should have taken it and you took it all. I tried, I did, _try_. I'm sorry this was all I could give you." At that, and realizing what he was about to do next, his throat began to choke. "I led you here. I did this. I didn't give you anything better, none of the things you needed to have. I'm sorry I wasn't good enough to make a little something last, but I guess it just wasn't meant to be."

But as the fire raged closer, and the golden light began to give way to some sort of dim, gray shroud, Blythe just smiled up at him as she had always done. Even then, it helped put to rest the tremors inside him. When she smiled, he felt a sense of peace. That it _was_ going to be okay. That for a few moments, it was just the two of them. And that was all that mattered.

She chuckled weakly.

"It's all right, Bane Cad. I had fun."

On impulse, Bane reached for the blaster at his side. He had forgotten that none of them were there. He was unarmed save for his wrist gauntlets. With effort, Blythe dragged one arm out of his lap and reached into the puddle she had been lying in. Something glistened beneath, and she pulled out a simple, silver, hand-held blaster.

"Here. Garr gave it to me. Said if it too hard to wait for Bane Cad to come for me, I can use it." Suddenly, she looked away, as if ashamed of what she was about to say next. When she spoke again, her voice sounded off, and strange. "Those kind where you can't or tell, what it set for—_right_? Garr loves those kind. I can't tell. Right?"

Bane managed to flash her one last, calm smirk of reassurance.

"Who cares how strong it is. I don't care." He reached down and peeled the weapon out of her hand.

As she watched, he held up the weapon, his whole arm trembling.

"Cad—?"

He put his fingers to her lips, trying to hush her again.

"I'm here. It's okay. It's going to be all right. I'm here."

"No, Cad. D-don't. _Please_ don't kill me like that."

"Kill you," Bane echoed, almost not believing what he had just said.

Kill you.

_How did I let this happen. How did I let it come to this._

Blythe took the blaster. At her touch, he immediately dropped the weapon. As Bane began to feel a pool of blood soak his lap, Blythe placed his hand against the side of her neck. It took him a second to realize what she was asking of him.

"I want this, the last thing I feel," Blythe said.

"Why...?"

"Last thing I know. Just use them" she added.

Of all the things she could have asked for. She still wanted _him_. He was all she had.

Carefully, he lowered her to the floor. Then, with his thumbs, he touched her collarbone. His throat choked again. Bane thought of the freshest corpse upstairs, and he could almost hear Garr Broxin calling them to join him in the hells they had built for themselves. But he was not calling Blythe. She could not hear him anymore. She was going to be free from him, at last.

At knowing the minutes were up, that the time had come, Blythe made not a move of fear or last-minute panic. Rather, her simple smile remained. In the end, she did not mind it this way. For her, death was an invitation, not a condemnation. A mercy, not a cruelty.

Only in the end, he began to believe the same.

He looked at her, Blythe, his _mesh-la_, the only creature with access to his heart—the girl who was driving him mad late at night, pumping him psychotic with her moves in the late-night waltzes and tangos, spiraling him into a descending state of fatigue, and it was all about to end and be over with. She was beautiful, reminding him of beauty. She was the fire, setting him aflame. He had been her life, and she would be his death.

"I'm sorry," he said again. "This was all I gave you."

She opened her eyes, and smiled at him once more.

"It's okay, Bane Cad. It's okay. I been want to die a long, long time, anyway."

He grinned halfheartedly.

"It was fun, wasn't it?" Bane asked.

"Yes. Sometimes. It's enough."

"What's enough?"

"Just, here with you. It's enough."

_It's enough._

_ The short time we had...it was enough._

"Hold me. Just hold me."

He did.

Bane began to wrap his hands around her neck with a delicacy he had never before known. He did not know how to feel anything else. Anything else had faded, was part of another reality. Time, matter, and fire included.

"I'm sorry, Blythe."

"It's okay. It was enough," she whispered. "B-Bane Cad...?"

"I'm here."

Her voice turned strange again.

"One more kiss? Last time?"

But when their lips locked in one small, solitary embrace, it was like it was the first time.

Then his hands began to tighten. He felt her press down into the floor, his body on top of hers, their stomachs parallel.

Blythe sucked air into her mouth. He was squeezing. He was forcing himself to squeeze harder. He was reaching deeper, and faster. Strange sounds traveled from her mouth to his, and he knew they were the words she had been trying to say and could never say, and he swallowed every last one of them like drugs. Their lips tightened against each other, sucking more and more life. Her soft skin was folding over his fingers, and then he felt her bones beneath the muscle. One last time, their blood and sweat and skin intertwined. One last time, they were one, and she was his to hold.

Then he let her go.

Bane shut his eyes. That was when he squeezed even harder, jerking his wrists to twist as quickly as he could. Blythe gave a small cry, and reached up to touch him. He felt her gasp, convulse. His fingers gave a _snap_.

One last tear rolled down Blythe's cheek.

He _snapped_ again, burying his face in her neck. He smelled her, heard her, felt her, and tasted her. It was all indescribably beautiful. It was all he had wanted her to be. Here, on the brink between two worlds, she was perfect again. Her frail, skeletal, abused body gave a shudder, a tremor that shook him as well. And then he raised his mouth to hers and kissed her again. Her last word was the one that tasted the best, a foreign word he had never known and a word she was finally able to finish, and as the shudder rippled down her spine and all the way to her fingertips, the breath was sucked right out of her throat.

And then Blythe was not moving.

Bane paused, frozen in not knowing if it was over or if he should try again. And then he pulled back. He held still, hovering over her.

A moment passed. She was not moving.

Her eyes were almost closed, but not quite. Her neck was twisted to the side. Her skin no longer glowed, the ember going cold against the blackness. Her soft, round lips were parted in the faintest remnant of the smile he loved the most.

She was still. She was in no more pain.

Bane sank down and leaned against the rusty crate. Time became meaningless and nonexistant as he watched, then turned away from the body that had once been Blythe's, and was now just another body. Despite the approaching heat, he felt cold. Strangely cold. As his hand began to shake, he held up Broxin's blaster. Bane gripped the weapon and twisted it. And slowly pointed it at his left temple.

An ache shot up his stomach. He felt drops of sweat form in his palm. With a small sigh, he wiped away the last tear from Blythe's cheek, which had formed a glistening line down the side of her face. Then he fixed his gaze up at that lone golden light.

His finger coiled around the trigger. It was an old sensation as habitual as sleep and drink.

So this was it.

After all the years of hanging by a thread to survive, leaving a trail of destruction behind his path to the ultimatum of infamy and recognition, after years of being the deadliest bounty hunter a now-fallen Republic had ever known...this was it. This was what the fighting and the bleeding and the trying had come to.

This was how it all ended. Not in fire, as he had anticipated, but with a whisper.

In the end, he was just another suicidal, his lover dead in his arms.

But it had been fun, as Blythe said. It had been a thrill while it lasted. It had been nice to be pointing the guns at anyone who so much as brushed him. It had been fun pretending that death was something everyone else had to face. It had been an interesting ride, twisting and turning.

He wondered where he would wake up. If he would recognize Blythe when he found her, if he found her at all.

Maybe he would find her swimming in a lake of liquid flowers, free of the scars and bruises and stretch marks. Maybe he would find her in the light as he looked up from the dark. Maybe they would just hold each other in the blackest of rooms.

So this is how it feels knowing one is about to die. _This_ is what he had seen in the eyes of all those sons of bitches he killed for pay, safety or spoil, and if anyone could see him now, they would see the same thing in his eyes.

This is what it was like.

And it felt...sad. It felt empty. And yet, it also felt peaceful.

Just as Garr had said, it was almost over. None of it was going to bother him anymore.

He pressed the nose of the blaster against his temple. The cold metal seemed to bite.

Ironic, that this was how he met his end.

But in a way, it wasn't ironic. The only other ways to die were by body ailment or someone else's hand. He didn't like either option. Waiting for illness or infection to take over stretched the days into years, every hour a sickly misery. If someone else took him, he would have to look on at their personal pleasure as the last thing he knew. Perhaps this was best, then.

Perhaps this had been his fate all along. From the very beginning.

The whole thing—the profession, the weapons, the dynamite, the partnerships and the massacres and the shootings. It had been chaotic. So much blood and hell. A crazy whirlwind of lies, greed, and death, and a lot of other things. None of it had made sense. It was probably not even supposed to make sense, in the end.

But there had been a little beauty, he supposed. A dying flower, a fading sunset sprinkled here and there, although there had been no time to care about or comprehend the beauty. Because it is only a moment, and then it passes on by.

A little red girl amidst nothing but darkness and a burning, screaming rage. It was how he wanted to know it, if he took away nothing else. Just that in the darkness, one little ember had set him on fire. And for a short time, something had been beautiful. That the ember had flickered for a moment and died out like all else. It was the world as best as he would remember it.

Cad Bane swallowed his last ounce of regret, just before pulling the trigger.


	32. Smile Because It Happened

_"Space Bound"_

_Chapter Thirty-Two: Smile Because It Happened_

* * *

><p>"<em>Seems that love comes for just a moment<br>And then it passes on by  
>And her sky is just a bandit<br>Swinging at the end of a hangman's noose  
>'Cause he stole the moon and must be made to pay for it<em>_"_

_-Rich Mullins, "Jacob and Two Women"_

* * *

><p><em>At the end of the tunnel, there was a lone beam of light.<em>

_ On the Duro system, in one of the many cramped and dirty towns where vile rogues hid from the sunlight, where fatherless children desperately beat on their mothers so they could afford another fix, where moisture ate away at the homes families couldn't afford to repair...another auction had ended at the black platform. A large, tattooed cargo ship awaited on the landing dock. The residents of the town were scattering away, back to their homes and their families, the major event of the day done and over with. In a matter of seconds, they had all but forgotten about the sale right outside their doorsteps—all but forgotten the innocent lives they had sold away to hell._

_ Pushing against the crowd was a figure: a blue-skinned Duros boy too small for his age. He was running with all the energy he had left. His red eyes scoured the line being taken into the cargo ship. His little heart was racing as he wheezed for air. He had to find _her_._

_ Then, at last, he saw her, at the back of the line. It was the little red girl. She came here on the cargo ship. They got to play together for a few days, but they took her to the platform in the center of town. Now, they are going to take her away for good, and he'll lose her._

_ He cannot let that happen._

_ The line to the cargo ship was long. Finally, he reached her just in time. She was at the back with the others her height. She was tiny and red, and a simple smile was plastered over her face._

_ "It's you again," the little red girl said, smiling._

_ He dug his palms into his scabbed knees, trying to get his breath back._

_ "Where are you going?" he asked._

_ "I don't know."_

_ The tall, dark figures wielded strange objects. They looked like sticks, but were taller and glistened in the late afternoon sunlight. And for some reason, they were laughing._

_ Where are they going to take her? he wondered. What are these scary people going to do to her?_

_ "But you can't go. You have to stay with me," he snapped._

_ "Stay?" she echoed._

_ The line was pulled closer. He took another step._

_ "Please, don't leave without me," he said, stammering for words. "Don't leave without me."_

_ "But I have to leave."_

_ "I don't want you to."_

_ "It's okay. I had fun." She smiled again. "Didn't you have fun?"_

_ He reached out to touch the little red girl, but she flinched away. Even then, she closed her eyes for a moment as the tall figures towered above her. As if she knew she had no choice but to accept her defeat, let the death toll ring, and play her part in their game._

_ "I have to go. And you have to stay."_

_ Reluctantly, the small blue figure took one step back, then two steps._

_ "I don't like saying goodbye," he said._

_ "Then say you're glad because it happened." She backed up with the others farther into the ship. "And when we look up at the sky and see a star, we can think of each other. Deal?"_

_ There was a pause, as time almost froze._

_ "Fine. It's a deal," he whispered. But, it would not take him long to forget his promise._

_ The little red girl smiled one last time, innocent and pure, before the black bloodstained doors of the ship closed between them, and the ship took off for the skies to a place called the Ryloth system. And she was gone._

* * *

><p>The headache was gone. It was completely <em>gone<em>.

He felt no pain there anymore. It was calm, silent. It was all gone.

He felt nothing in his hurt knee, nor his eyes, nor any other place on his body. It was otherworldly to him, to not know pain. A cool, soothing warmth chilled him. It felt peaceful.

Something fell on his face. Small. Cold. Wet.

It was a drop of rain.

All he could see around him was white—not a blinding white, but a comforting, milky cloud. He blinked. Beneath him was a hard, dry surface. Another raindrop fell, and it landed right above his closed mouth.

If Cad Bane had known this is what death was like all along, he would have shot himself years ago.

Wait. Blythe was here, wasn't she?

A third drop of rain. He didn't move. He couldn't move at all, paralyzed. He blinked again.

_Blythe was here, wasn't she?_

A tunnel—yes, it was up ahead—and a small, all-too familiar voice followed. Not the voice of Orett Solarin's prized Lethan girl usually sold out by one a.m. It was the little red girl. It was that small creature he once knew.

A fourth drop fell, and then another. Something was happening to the whiteness around him. It was...fading. Another voice.

"Bane."

Where was it coming from? He shuddered, but the whiteness faded away a little more with each falling drop. Slowly, he began to feel something in his legs again. He couldn't remember the word they had used in the other life, but it might have been..._sore_. As for the tunnel, it was already gone.

"Bane?"

_Wait a minute. _Did he know that voice? He _knew_ that voice. Somewhere, somehow, he had heard it before..._Embo_.

_ Embo? What the hell are you doing out here? Don't tell me you shot yourself, too._

"Don't you die on me."

_I'm already dead, you karking idiot..._

The sensation in his legs grew stronger. Until he finally felt it. At first he did not know how to describe it, but it did not take long for the word to come back. It was, pain. He felt pain. So that's what it had been like.

_No, wait._

"Come on, Bane. You won't die on me, now."

He opened his eyes, and the whiteness vanished. It was sucked from the skies completely. A choking sensation started in his throat, and he coughed violently.

How could he feel pain? How could he feel pain when he was _dead_? What kind of a fucking afterlife was this in which Embo was a karking idiot and he felt _pain_...?

"Come on."

Someone dragged him along the hard, dry surface. Agony exploded everywhere below his waist. He resisted, trying to dig his heels into the ground. More drops of rain fell on his face. His surroundings were a blur—a dead blur.

Darkness was all he could see.

_Embo. Embo, what are you...?_

"Shut up. I said I owed you a favor, did I not. You are one lucky bastard."

_But you can't save me now. I'm dead, I'm—oh, god, cut it out, that fucking hurts._

"Dead?"

_Yeah. Yes, I'm—dead._

Cad Bane looked up.

Not darkness. It was black clouds. Clouds of smoke. Clouds from thefire. And pain was tearing through his legs like hundreds of splinters snapping the bone. Smoke was trickling up from the ground and choking the air. It swallowed up a patch nearby where a small pile of embers still burned in the blackened rubble of a building. The sound of the crackling and roaring had faded out, and was no more than a whisper of a flame, and the only evidence remaining of that fire that once raged, was the constant smoke.

_Oh, no._

_"Embo..."_ he coughed, as another drop fell. "...where am I?"

"You're on Ryloth."

One lone image flashed in his mind.

That little red girl. What was her name? What did her call her? _Blythe_.

"Stop it. Don't make me change my mind."

He could see it. He was being dragged against a hard ground. It was the Ryloth desert, which had once burned. Now, it was dead. It was gray, literally, covered in ashes. All of Broxin's and Solarin's black buildings were gone. Every last one of them had been burned to the ground. Never to be remembered by anyone. Never to be known by an outsider as a symbol of their complex world of crime. Never to be looked on in horror and grief from what they were, and out of the fear that the same should happen again in some other place. Flattened and forgotten and burned to death.

He was not dead? He was not _dead_.

Embo had him, had his arms wrapped around him, and was dragging him away, scraping the backs of his legs against the ground to pick up clouds of smoldering ash that were hot on his skin. He managed to lift his head and look down far enough to see one knee swollen and twisted to the side.

How could he be alive? How? He shot himself in the fucking head with a fucking blaster.

"I found you. Unconcious. I dragged you out just in time, too," said a voice behind his head.

_Oh, no._

Something began to boil in his chest.

_How? _How_!_

"It was set for stun," said Embo. "You were shot with a weapon set for stun."

"But...no, no, I..."

Then he remembered what she had said.

He hadn't been able to tell what it was set for. It could have been set for anything. It _could have_ been set, for stun.

He reached out, digging his fingers into a handful of empty ashes. It was cold. It was wet. Two more drops fell, then five.

It was raining on the Ryloth desert.

_Blythe._

"Embo, wait. The Lethan. Where is—"

"The red Twi'lek?" What the Kyuzo said next made Cad Bane's insides give a snap. "Sorry, but she was dead before I got there. Broken neck, if I recall."

He made a funny sound in his throat. He looked up and he stopped breathing.

Oh, Force, not this.

No.

Not _her_.

This couldn't be happening. It was all going to be _over_. The games were going to end and the headache wasn't going to bother him anymore. He was going to follow her into the dark. He was going to join her. They were going to die together. It was how it had been meant to be since before it _began_.

"Stop it."

"Bane?"

"Leave me, Embo, or kill me right now."

"Why would you ask me—"

"I _said_..." he snatched a handful of Kyuzo cloak and yanked on it until he could look directly into Embo's glowing amber eyes, "...kill me _fast_. You've killed a man before, haven't you?"

With a sudden loss of energy his legs buckled, and he could not breathe.

His body began to tremble.

No. Not _Blythe_.

Not when they were going to be together. Not after all he gave just so she could stay with him. Not after he told her it was going to be okay. Anyone but _her_.

_Blythe..._

You can't leave without me. Don't leave without me, Blythe.

No, she didn't leave.

He let go of Embo and let himself collapse to the ground on his knees. A sudden numbness took over until he did not feel the soreness, or could even recall how it felt. The rain began to soak through his coat, and the mess of blood, sweat, and ashes began to be washed away. No longer was the sound of raging fire strewn across the clearing, but the sound of a timid, persistant rain pawing the gray earth and the burned forest. His head dropped as the rain fell onto the back of his neck and shoulders.

She didn't leave. _He _did it.

He killed her.

He had his hands around her throat. He twisted. He squeezed. He kissed her and he killed her like he had killed so many others. She wanted him to let her die in that way, and she accepted death as an invitation and a mercy, but _he _did it. He was the one who brought her here. He was the one who bought her from Solarin but didn't have it in him to let her go. He was the one who made her a bargaining chip for Broxin to use, and he put both hands around her throat, and he _killed _her.

The boiling turned to a burning. One last burning, to burn the ashes. It burned like nothing in him had ever burned before nor like nothing ever would.

Compared to this, he would take the headache any day.

Blythe.

She had known all along that the weapon was set for stun. She had known, and she had lied to him. She _let _him snap her neck and then shoot himself, knowing all along he would wake up in due time, and knowing she would never wake. All along.

"Blythe."

She _must _have known. He had been too dazed to realize it was a lie. She knew. She knew! She told him to take the weapon because it wouldn't kill him, so he would be blind enough to use it on himself and not her. She told him to kill her with his bare hands so she would _know _that _she _was dead!

"Blythe..."

_ Why did you _do that_?_

_ Why the hell did you let me kill you!_

He felt the rain falling down, still but continous, soothing but hard. It was soaking the ground and turning the ashes of a fallen empire to no more than dead, gray mud. The last burning embers cooled to cold. The remaining smoke evaporated into the air. The thick heat that once choked him now sent waves of clean air through the breathing tubes, so clean it felt like rushing water itself. Clean, clean air.

Under the rain, he trembled with a feeling he couldn't explain. An ache that echoed miles deep. A cold, hardened glacier that cracked in two. He was broken at last.

He squeezed down on the ashen ground, but nothing happened. Nothing changed. Nothing could bring it back. Nothing could be undone.

_"I die anyway. I born here, live here...then I die here. That's just that."_

Is _that_ what she had meant?

As he tasted a mixture of blood and rain in his mouth, it began to make sense.

It was on purpose.

She wanted him to keep going. To leave her there. To let her die as she had wanted to die for the longest time.

But she knew him, and knew the scent of his lies and gambits. Knowing that, she could not get such a thing through to his head, that for some reason death was too early for him. Knowing that, she could not talk him into leaving her there.

So she lied to his face instead.

_ Why, Blythe? Why the hell did you do that?_

_ I was supposed to be with you!_

The burning, screaming rage began to rip at him from the inside-out. His eyes stung. He no longer felt the rain.

No. _No_, please, not _this_.

_You promised, Blythe! You were going to take me with you. We were going to be together. Didn't you see all that I gave just to have you! Didn't I tell you!_

But he never told her. He never said the things she needed to hear.

He never—told her that he loved her.

Blythe was gone.

_Oh, goddammit, Blythe..._

_ Why the hell did you do that!_

"Kill me. Embo. Kill me, goddammit," he whispered. He pulled away from the Kyuzo's grip a second time, landing back on the ground face-down.

"Bane, I care not what you want, but you are getting off this planet alive. Understand?"

"Please, kill me. Just kill me."

Embo tried to grab him and hoist him up, but after three times without succeeding, he stopped. The two bounty hunters froze under the rain. One was standing, and one was kneeling over, unable to wrap his head around the rage ripping at him inside. A feeling that made no sense and was taking over the nerves, the muscles, the bone, the thoughts, and the last of the cold.

For the very first time, his heart hurt. It literally, hurt.

But that's the thing about innocence as well as the sunset, wasn't it? It is only there for a small time, and just as you realize it might be there after all, and there may yet be a shred of hope and a shred of light, it is gone. It comes for a moment, and then it passes on by. Maybe for that one small pinnacle, as the dying sphere peeled its eye closed on the horizon, bleeding tangerine rays across the skyline, you believed in it. But that pinnacle is just a moment, a leaf on a tree. Just as you realize it's there, it slips, and you lose it, and it's gone forever.

And you're not even sure if that moment—the moment the sunset truly did make everything beautiful—ever existed at all.

Blythe was gone.

Grief took control over his whole body. Grief paralyzed him. It made a strange sound come out of his throat that he had not heard in a long, long time, and never thought he would hear again.

And he wanted to kill everything and everyone, and he wanted to scream every last bit of the rage out of him until he couldn't feel anything in there, and he wanted to fill his mouth with blood and ashes to get rid of her taste, and wrap his hands around Embo's neck and snap it and twist it. He wanted the fire to eat him alive until he could come back to his little red girl. And he wanted the cold, nothing but the cold and the darkness to welcome him back where he felt _nothing_, and nothing _mattered_, and forget this place where grief poured down and _burned _and made every second of it, matter so, so much. He wanted to be back, to carve out his heart and let it burn in the last of the embers and the grief with it. But it would never happen. The fire had died out. The cold was gone and, suddenly, every minute of every day since the day he found Blythe mattered more than ever, and it _burned _as it poured down with the rain, like the rain. Then his throat gave out, and he could cry no more.

The sunset was gone. It had died out, as any other sunset does.

The fire was gone, nothing remaining but the ashes it had left behind.

And yet...

He was kneeling, head down, in the cool rain. It was running along the rim of his hat and dripping down to his shoulders. It was washing away the ashes of Ryloth's wrongdoings, leaving no trace of what had once been. It was nuturing an empty land with new water. A flood. A shower. Here was the rain putting out the fire and washing it all away. Ryloth cooled and the smoke cleared. After all the fire, the rain had come.

_Blythe._

She had let herself die for him. Why, why the hell did she do it. What kind of a person preferred to die and let someone else go on living instead of the other way around? What _was _that?

It was the first time someone had ever done such a thing for him.

And, now he knew, it would be the last.

"Bane, Cad?"

He snapped his head up. Only one person called him by that, and it was _her_. The numbness, mingled with the cold, left him breathless.

_Blythe. Blythe? Is she really here? Is she still going to be okay?_

"Bane Cad?"

He turned around, trembling like a small child.

Then he saw her. It was the Twi'lek girl from before.

"Bane Cad. That's what she told me your name was?" asked Tee, the little green girl. "Is that your name?"

He looked away, staring down. With effort he tried to swallow the ache in his throat. He wiped his palms along the sides of his face to clear away the mess, leaving streaks of ash. Why wasn't he fucking dead, why couldn't he just die now, and what was he going to destroy first to expel the last of the burning from inside?

And yet...he looked back up at the little girl, who was close behind Embo. She had a poncho, no doubt made by a Kyuzo, wrapped around her shoulders and over her head, covering her lekku. She blinked the rain from her eyelashes.

He was afraid to speak lest he discover he could no longer do so. The inside of his throat felt as if it had been scraped by broken glass.

"I found this little girl nearby," Embo said quietly, sounding galaxies away. "She led me to the place where I found you. She's the only one who survived the whole thing, as far as I know. I don't know what I'm going to do with her; maybe Sugi will know a place to drop her off."

He reached out and touched her. She was as cool as the rain.

"Name...what's your name?"

"I'm Tee," she said.

And he wondered.

Had Blythe seen something different in this little girl? Had she seen more days of undamaged innocence than just _one_? A second chance to make wrong into right? The things she did not have? The things Blythe could have never gotten back?

Is that what she meant by 'somebody waiting for him'. Was it _her_?

Rain poured down his face, concealing what also fell.

Perhaps this girl was how he had remembered Blythe as.

What he had wanted—needed—Blythe to be. And Blythe had known it.

Is that why she lied to him.

_I never gave you enough, Blythe._

_ I never told you that I loved you._

_ I loved you._

To his surprise, Tee reached up to the brim of his hat. Her hand glided over the top, allowing a splash of water that had collected in a dent on top to fall over the edge. With her other hand, she clutched the poncho tight to her chest.

The feeling he could not explain made the rainfall all the heavier, as it continued to pour down on Ryloth.

A second time, he dug his palms into the earth. As Tee's large, bright eyes watched him, he tried standing up. Embo turned back. Bane felt himself pulled back up, and this time, he did not let himself drop back down.

"Tee. You can come with me," he said to her.

"Where are we going?"

The Kyuzo waited for his reply not long before it came.

"I'll take care of her," he said to Embo.

Bane hardly heard the words come out of his mouth.

_I'll take care of her._

_ I'll bring her out of this place, out of the curse. I'll give her that second chance._

_ No one else will._

Embo grabbed Bane by his opposite shoulder, digging his foot into the gray mud, and looked up ahead to the starship landed not far off on the other end of the clearing. Then, a little green girl named Tee ran ahead of both of them, pulled the poncho off of her head. And she danced in the rain like the happiest, purest, most innocent of angels.

He would remember those few days with the girl named Blythe. He would rememeber how she smelled, how she tasted, how she looked in that dress and the night she danced in Hawke Noth Cantina. And to remember was breaking from the inside-out. Like nothing else, it hurt to break, snapping under the memories and the heat. Under the rain that washed away the blood and the fire and the smell of death, and the strangeness of one who would give life in exchange for another, he had broken.

There was a fire. There were games to play and an act to put on for the audience. A crazy whirlwind of lies, greed, and death, and a lot of other things. There was a beautiful little red girl. There was a sunset and something lost along the way because that was how the world turned. But there was also the rain.

_Just promise me you'll think of me every time you look up in the sky and see a star._

* * *

><p>"<em>And I would've done anything for you<em>

_To show you how much I adored you_

_But it's over now_

_It's too late to save our love_

_Just promise me you'll think of me_

_Every time you look up in the sky and see a star"_

_-Eminem, "Space Bound"_

* * *

><p><em>EPILOGUE<em>

He was already awake when he heard the sound.

It was one he knew all too well—a child's cry, something like a scream out of fear and a wail for comfort morphed into one. It was a sound he had learned to hate.

Tattooine's twin moons were slowly sinking behind the sand dunes of the deep, dry desert. The night was in its final stretch, dying in a quiet finale in which little girls wake up crying from nightmares.

Cad Bane yanked back the covers and got up out of the small bed, already fully dressed. He had to strain a bit to see better in the dark, thanks to the pale scar that now ran down the middle of his left eye. As the child's cry continued from not twenty feet away, he grabbed the nearest cigarette pack and stuck it in his pocket. Just in case, you know.

He took several steps. More than not they were hobbling limps. He pressed his lips together and braced against the doorway to help him along. Since that day, his knee had not healed properly, even after Ihtak had snapped it back into place. The bones in the joint were not in the same shape as they once were, and although speed was certainly not impossible, his agility had taken its toll.

When he arrived at the source of the sound, he pulled back an old curtain that blocked a built-in bed in the wall, forming a secluded closet of some sorts that was stuffed with a few pillows and blankets. Inside lay a little girl, Tee, sobbing into a pillow with her knees against her chest, as she clutched a hand-made stuffed animal toy. Her shoulders shook with each cry.

It still gave him the chills, although it had been over a year ago, now. To hear a helpless cry like that, calling for him from far away. It reminded him of _her_. Blythe.

Cad shifted forward and sat down on the edge of the bed. His hand automatically rested on the back of Tee's head. It seemed that as soon as Tee felt it, she began to calm down.

"You're all right," he said in a low, soft purr.

She continued to cry, muffling the sobs against her pillow. He stroked each of her lekku as gently as one would breathe on a pillar of ash. A cold gust from the open window nearby sent a chill up his back. Cad said it again.

"You're all right. You were dreaming, Tee. Just dreaming. I'm right here."

Tee sniffed loudly. She wiped her nose on the pillowcase, leaving behind a glistening trail.

"It was him," Tee whimpered, and squeezed the animal toy even tighter.

"Who, him?"

But he knew the answer. He had known it for a long time.

"The man. Ryloth. Garr. He...was..."

_I know what he did to you, Tee. It's the same thing I saw in her. Just, not as much._

"I was scared. He was hurting me and making me swallow something awful. It felt just like the real—"

"It wasn't the real thing. You listening?"

"B-but it was," whispered Tee. "I felt him."

He began stroking his hand up and down her back. There were no scars, no marks, and no diseases. Tee appeared to calm down a bit more, and her sobbing slowed. Although she was turned away, she snuggled up closer to him.

She was still small for a ten-year-old Twi'lek. He sometimes doubted if she would ever spurt to her normal size, or if the things she had been exposed to by Solarin and Broxin would never fully heal.

But she was not sick. She had not been handled and bought and played with by enough men and women so that she could no longer think for herself. She did not understand what had been done on Ryloth. Maybe, depending on his decision, she would never understand. Her mind was yet her own, still intact. She laughed when she was supposed to be reading, she danced when she was supposed to be practicing; she had a habit of tickling a person in the least-humorous hours of the morning. She drew and she played tricks and she sang.

That last day of innocence he had searched for in Blythe—he found in Tee.

As Cad gently caressed her shoulders, Tee propped one elbow and sat up. She tucked in her little legs just enough so that she could snuggle against the taller, larger figure on the edge of the bed.

"You going to be fine for the night, little lady?" he asked.

Tee sniffled, holding her hands close to her face.

"Can you stay just a little longer?" Her voice, small but strong, was scarce above a whisper.

Cad, as part of his usual routine, gave Tee a pinch on the nose and a tap on her upper lip to stiffen it up. She stifled a wet giggle but could not hold back the smile.

One day, he thought, Tee would grow up to be a beautiful young woman, fending for herself in the galaxy. And in a galaxy that abused her kind, she would have to learn how to defend herself. How to be strong. How to be a survivor. How to fight and find her place. If nothing else, he was going to know that's what she would be.

"I can't stay long. You know I have to go soon."

"Just a little? _Please_...?"

As he let out a small sigh of defeat, he lowered Tee's head into his lap. After that, Tee, relaxed. She sniffed again, and snuggled closer.

"I'm cold," she pouted.

He fit in a snicker through his dry throat. It was a strange thing about Tee that she frequently complained about, even in the least likely of temperatures, that she was cold. Nevertheless, he took the blanket and tucked it over her, until she was quiet.

Eventually, Tee was asleep again.

Careful so as not to wake her, he set her head down on the pillow and slid his leg out from under. He climbed off the bed and crossed the small room of the hideout. In the corner lay his blaster rifle, which was the only weapon besides his twin pistols that was not obscured from Tee's view and in the underground bunker. He grabbed the rifle, balanced it under one arm, and loaded it with two clicks. Limping quietly across the creaky floor, he made his way to the exit, as Tee fell back into a deep sleep.

Once he was outside, Cad Bane shut the door behind him. He made his way down the front porch until he sat down in an old, rusty chair. As he laid the rifle across his lap, he donned his hat and flicked out a cigarette. Along with the headache, which he had not had for a year, also went his deathstick addiction. Tee would never know either things had existed. Another to add to the list of things he did not intend for her to know. Not that it mattered.

In an hour or so, he would be on his way for another day again. Bounties or not, the fortune he had saved and spared was in its last days. There was work to be done. Things to chase. Things to collect. Old partnerships to rekindle and old affairs to resolve. New partnerships to discover and new affairs to, well, ignore. It was best that way, for Tee's sake.

The night was late and cool on Tattooine. The air smelled fresh, like a blank slate waiting to be written on. Several miles away lay the nearest civilian population area, from which, on some nights, the grumbling of traffic and howling of the nightlife could be heard from afar. A drunkard, a madman, a hooker who keeps changing her mind about retirement, an Imperial guard, a bounty hunter discussing business terms with a new client, and another victim left dirtied in an alleyway. It was all the same old sight, smells, sounds, and shit from places like Happyface and Nal Hutta, the same old stories repeated again and again, so that whatever "Force" was out there could have a big joke about it.

Tonight, however, he was not in the middle of such things, not reeled in or surrounded by its dark, tempting snare as back in the days when he did not mind such characters and could risk the step. Tonight was different. Instead, he simply listened it from a distance, taking it in for what it was worth, and wondering if what he heard was anything new, or just an echo of everything he had heard in the past.

Cad stretched out his sore leg, sticking the cigarette between his teeth. The hat lowered and formed a shadow over his eyes. And yet, they were beginning to glow as if reflecting a rekindled fire, a phoenix rising from the ashes and setting the Tattooine horizon alive with light.

His gaze scanned the long, dark desert. Normally, the sounds of the distant city could be heard at this time of night, but for now, all was still. As if the galaxy had been put on pause after the nightfall to mourn the sun that set and the stars that fade. He could hear Tee's breathing from inside, small and delicate. Maybe she would begin to have good dreams again. Unlike some. Little by little, his finger inched off the trigger of the rifle. He, too, felt cold, he realized.

But the Tattooine sky was opening its last lone window to melt the ice, to bring peace where once had been violence and rage. A sweet, fresh aroma had overcome the smell of death, and like a small green blade of grass standing up from the ashes, was coming back to life.

A faint promise. A sunset. A trace of beauty. The little red girl. And Tee. It was the world as best as he would remember it.

The last star in the night sky was fading out, and he wondered if shehad thought of him one last time. If somewhere far away, who knew where, Blythe was also looking up at a star.

_Blythe_. He could not think about it today. Today had enough worries and uncertainties, and things he could not explain. Maybe tomorrow...he would think of her. Or the day after that. But today, he was going to fight. For them. For that second chance.

Then he glided his fingers over the rim of his hat. He tossed away the cigarette, stood up, and slung the rifle over his shoulder. His holsters were loaded at his sides. Stinging, fresh air filled his lungs. A long ride across the desert awaited him. Should misfortune not come their way, he would come back to Tee with a hot meal and a fistful of credits before she knew much of the difference.

Cad Bane could see the faintest light across the horizon. It was distant to the point of almost unreachable, but he knew it was there, and it was coming.

But it was not the sunset. Not anymore. Not this time.

Thistime, he knew it was not the end of something beautiful, but the beginning.

That it must be getting close to the sunrise.

Give or take a couple hours.

* * *

><p>"<em>For the wretched of the earth<br>There is a flame that never dies  
>Even the darkest nights will end<em>

_And the sun will rise"_

_-Les Miserables_

THE END

* * *

><p><em>Author's Note: <em>

_ I want to say Thank You! to all the wonderful people who favorited, followed, and most of all, reviewed "Space Bound". Your comments, encouragement, and feedback were helpful in more ways than you know. Especially a big thanks to __**Keporous**__, __**Obsidian Tear**__, __**sacariah**__, __**laloga**__, __**Kat Haz Kolorz**__, and __**Cad Bane lover**__._

_ Well, that was it. That was "Space Bound"—my shiralee, my one-hit-wonder, my fire, my jazz, my delirium, my drive. This was quite the journey for me as a writer, as a fan, and as a person. I don't know how in the hell I managed to finish it, much less pull it off, but thanks to you, I did it._

_ Most of all, I would _love _to hear your thoughts on the resolution and the story as a whole. If you have not left any reviews yet, but have been following the story, please leave some feedback before you check out!_

_ "Revision"? Yes. I am going back to do some polishing up on the story. No big plot changes will be taking place, but a general clean-up to improve the rougher, sloppier edges._

_ "Sequel"? As of now, no plans. I love the idea of continuing Bane's story deeper into post-Revenge of the Sith, but out of fear of repeating myself, I probably won't. Only if I get an abundance of _high_ demand for a sequel will I dare to carry on the tale._

_ "More fanfiction?" Yes. I have a new story that will be arriving very soon. It is a departure from Star Wars into The Avengers, and it is a historical-fanfiction if you will. As for Cad Bane fanfiction, I would love nothing more than to keep writing about the character, and I have some ideas. But after writing this...I have to take a break._

_ Thank you for sticking with the story and being such great readers. Thank you for letting me do this and keeping me going. So stay tuned for more. "Space Bound" may be finished, but I've only started._


	33. Author's Note: Update

To anybody out there who is still following "Space Bound"...one last time, hello.

One year ago, I published the last chapter and the epilogue of this fanfiction. I was convinced that was the end of the story, that I had said all I wanted to say. I stated that I would write a sequel to Space Bound only if there was a high demand...there was a fair amount of response to that, but I was not planning on writing more fanfiction for Star Wars: The Clone Wars anytime soon, as I was quite spent emotionally and mentally.

However, as much as the ending of "Space Bound" seemed satisfying enough, I realized there was another part that needed to be told. Bane and Blythe's story has closed, yes, but Bane and Tee's has just begun, and from the moment I joined them together I knew theirs would be quite the story to tell if ever. One particular experience last April was the final probe to my muse that I should tell this story. It was on a sleepy, sunny afternoon; in some sort of half-awake, dreamlike state, I stumbled upon and listened to the entirety of an album by a band called The Honey Trees. This album, "Wake the Earth", painted a fresh picture in my head of how this story would be told.

This why I am posting one last update on this fanfiction - so I can tell you that a sequel is in the works. A "Space Bound" sequel is coming.

The title for the sequel is "Wake the Ashes".

I cannot guarantee an exact date of when this will start being published. But my estimate is that within a couple months - four at most - you can read the first chapter.

Most of the story will be set nine years after the events of "Space Bound". The main characters will be Cad Bane, Tee, Embo, Boba Fett, and some others including various cameos of characters from the Prequels, Sequels, and "The Clone Wars". The plot will follow how these characters have coped since the birth of the Empire and how the choices they make will decide not just their fates but the fates of those around them. Some want only to survive and preserve what little they have left. Some want the fortune and glory and do not care who stands in the way. And a small few believe that what you give is more important than what you take.

In this sequel I plan to portray several elements. One of these is the widespread aftermath of the Clone Wars, particulary how it affected the criminal underworld and its inhabitants. This in both the structural aspect as well as that of the psychological, so I will touch on Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. Another element is the atrocity of the Empire including its Humanocentric speciesism, and the earliest stages of the Rebel Alliance. In addition, the Empire will not be portrayed as completely heartless, and neither will the Rebels be portrayed as completely noble. A lot is going to be happening that involves the existing pool of bounty hunters, the first members of the Rebel Alliance, and Imperial recruits.

As for the cast, I am writing Cad Bane nine years later as being more of a bitter, solemn, and meditative character. He will be a new shade of the Bane we knew from the show "The Clone Wars". Tee needs to do a lot of growing up, and her circumstances will not leave this need unmet. Embo will return, and he will have an extremely important role - quite possibly the most important role of the entire story. I will also explain my own version of how Boba Fett came to be the leader of his trade during the Galactic Civil War, and how one particular bounty hunter stood in his way for a time.

It's pretty much needless to say that "Wake the Ashes" will be as dark and gritty as "Space Bound", if not more so, but not always in the same way. New things are going to be happening and very few of them are pleasant. But everything that happens is going to be told in a very different way from before.

Looking over what I have written, outlined, and planned for "Wake the Ashes", I can guarantee that it will be an improvement from its predecessor in every which and way. The stage is on a more epic scale. The cast is larger; the relationships are stronger; the stakes are higher. However, I can also guarantee that, as the title implies, it will resurrect the parts of my heart that were burned to ashes with "Space Bound" only to shove them through the meat grinder. I am breathless with anticipation for publishing the sequel, but I also dread what the writer in me knows I cannot avoid for the sake of this story. That is why it has taken me a year and three weeks to even tell anyone about a sequel.

Arthur Quiller-Couch, in his 1913-14 Cambridge lecture series "On the Art of Writing", famously advised writers to "murder their darlings." And I don't think he was talking solely about characters. I tapped into that piece of advice with "Space Bound", but now I know I can do so much more with "Wake the Ashes". Where I once waded in cautiously, I am now able to dive in head first. And am I going to? Yes, yes, I am.

I just hope that whoever enjoyed "Space Bound" will appreciate seeing where the story goes next.

I look forward to seeing all of you then, and until such time as the first chapter of "Wake the Ashes" is finally ready to go...hope you can sit tight.


End file.
